Against All Odds
by asteracaea
Summary: "His eyes met hers and he found he could not look away. They were depthless, those eyes. Vibrant, inquisitive, mischievous—all the most attractive things he thought of her reflected in her gaze. And when she smiled like that... Maker's breath..." The story of Aislynn Lavellan: her adventures, her companions, and her enduring romance.
1. Awakening

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

_Darkness…_

She woke with a start, faced down upon the ground. Her eyelids fluttering, she spluttered and coughed the dust from her lungs. Gingerly, she pushed herself into a kneeling position. Everything _ached—_her legs, her head, her body, her _hand…_

Her left hand throbbed as though stabbed through with a dagger. Grimacing, she lifted it to inspect it and her breath caught in her throat. A feral green light blazed in the palm of her hand, expanding and shrinking, sending the feeling of electric pulses through her hand and up her arm. Desperately, she clutched her wrist and tried to extinguish the mark into the dirt, but it was no use.

_What is this? _Her eyes widened in terror, _What has happened to me?_

Her stomach churned with a mixture of fear and desperation. Wild eyes scanned surroundings and another pang of fear squeezed her heart. _Where am I?_

Nothing around her was clear. Surrounded by a green, ethereal mist, somewhere on the side of a mountain, she was already lost, but the shapes that loomed around her and above her suggested that her location was perhaps _beyond_ the norm. Her breaths quickened into nearly hysteric gasps and she curled into a tight ball against the side of a boulder, staring at her hand.

A strangled, disjointed voice, somewhere above her caught her attention. It was a cry for help. The familiarity tugged at her emotions, but she had nothing in her memory to suggest that she could place the person. Still, she stood shakily to her feet, feeling just how weak she was and hoping she would be able to walk. The green light on her hand expanded again and she cried out. The pain felt like the light was tearing, ripping at her muscles and she desperately fought to control the tears she already felt gathering in her eyes. When she felt control again over her body, she looked up to the voice.

There are the top of the mountain was a solitary figure, wreathed in a golden light. _Could it be? Andraste?_ She stumbled to her feet and clambered forward, ignoring the aching of every joint in her body. A clicking and scraping noise behind her gave her pause and she turned to investigate, wincing when she felt how stiff her neck was. But what she saw made her eyes widen and her pulse quicken: _giant spiders._ Pushing through the pain, she plunged forward up the mountain, scrambling over the scattered boulders, ignoring the cuts and scrapes she received from her many stumbles. _Almost…almost there,_ she panted, reaching her hand out to the figure above her. _I'm not going to make it,_ she panicked, floundering as she fell once more. _I'm too weak—it hurts too much._ She felt tears sting her eyes again and she made one more desperate leap for the woman atop the mountain. The golden figure's hands reached out to grab hers and the battered woman cried out when she felt the touch. Suddenly, the mountain seemed to shake, the mists grew thicker, and the golden light spread into a flash of radiance. She closed her eyes against the glow and felt herself falling until—

She opened her eyes again, once more face down in the dirt—but it felt _different_. Sitting up quickly, quickly enough to make her feel even more dizzy and lightheaded, she took notice of her settings. The mists were gone and the world around her was clear, detailed. She was still on a mountain and the surroundings were…odd. _Was there an explosion? _And then she saw them, the burnt corpses where they had died seemingly instantaneously, their last moments of terror and anguish on their scorched remains. Horror filled her, chilling her to her very bones, and she moved to escape, but the pain she had felt before falling into the light seized her again and she cried out. Reduced to being on all fours, she slowly crawled from the desolate ruin and into the open. Sounds of battle rang in her ears, but she continued heedless of the danger she might face.

From a distance, she heard someone shouting. Her gaze moved to search for the source and she spied a soldier running towards her. But she was too exhausted to move, whether that soldier was to be her death or salvation, it didn't matter. Just before he reached her, she felt her world grow dark, the pain engulfing her body and the mark on her hand glowing with a vengeance. _I can't hold on…_ she thought just before the darkness took her.

_**~oOo~**_

"They say she just…stepped out of the fade," whispered one of the soldiers. "Andraste sent her to us."

"Did you see that mark on her hand? She's been touched by the Divine!"

"The world is ending…perhaps she had something to do with it. The Maker wouldn't send an _elf_ to save Thedas."

The hushed whispers in camp only added more fuel to the fury already burning within the tall Seeker. Her dark eyes flashed and she felt her hand slam down almost unbidden onto the wooden table at which she sat. "Enough!" she roared to the idle men. "Your people are dying in that field and you stand here to gossip. Get out of my sight!" She watched them go, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt at her outburst before standing up to pace-_again_. The healers had insisted that the strange elf girl they found in the ruin would be fine, _but that mark on her hand_…

"Cassandra," another voice called to her and she stopped her pacing to face him.

"Yes, Solas?"

The elf speaking bowed politely, the light glinting off of his bare head. "I bring good news about the…_patient." _He fumbled with the correct term and she corrected fiercely.

"The _prisoner…_yes," and her gaze was intense.

Undaunted, he continued, "The prisoner, then. She is stable and her wounds have been seen to. She should be waking soon."

"Good. I want her taken for questioning."

Solas stepped forward and faced Cassandra directly, "The peculiar mark on her hand may be the only way to seal the rifts. I would suggest allowing her the chance to do so before any decisions against her are made."

Cassandra sneered, "She may be responsible for what happened, and you would have me let her go _free?"_

"Not free," he amended. "But not entirely disregarded either. The mark is killing her, Cassandra." His eyes met hers in a pointed gaze. "I do not think anyone would take this upon themselves willingly, were it to do harm. The pain induced by its presence is…unthinkable." Leaning momentarily against his wooden staff, he sighed, "That is my request: let her prove herself—for good or evil. She may be our last chance."

The Seeker let her glare soften before she answered, "Perhaps you are right…" She turned to leave, but paused to look at him once more, "I _pray_ that you are right."


	2. Prisoner

_Hello, my dear readers. Thank you for joining me on this journey. Before it actually begins, let me get the necessary things out of the way: I don't own anything pertaining to Bioware or Dragon Age, which includes this second chapter, the first one, and all the chapters that are to follow. Whew! Now that that's out of the way... I'm currently working on another story: Victory, Vigilance, and Sacrifice. They will both tie in together, but as I'm currently playing through Inquisition, I wanted to start writing this while the story is still fresh in my memory. The other story is about Alistair and the city elf Karia Tabris. Their lives will very closely intertwine with our Inquisitor's in the near future. All shall be revealed soon. ;) Please enjoy. All comments and reviews will be appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy!_

**_~oOo~oOo~oOo~_**

_Hard stone floor…and it echoes. All the doors must be closed._ The elf girl shivered, _It's so cold…_ _Where am I? _She gasped as she was shoved to the stone floor, biting her lip in pain as the shock traveled up her knees. The blindfold was ripped from her eyes and she squinted, her eyes adjusting to the light. Blinking, she tried to focus on the figures standing ominously before her. The fierce face of a tall woman with short dark hair met her gaze first and she approached with a commanding air.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," she growled, her accent thick with fury.

The elf did not lower her gaze, refusing to cower. "What do you mean?"

Cassandra whirled, her dark eyes blazing, "An entire Conclave is dead—decimated. And yet, _you_ live." She halted and glared directly in the elf's eyes, "Why?"

Consternation filled the elf girl's face, "You think _I_ did this?"

The fury in the Seeker's face turned her a shade of red as she tethered her emotions. "If you didn't do it, then what of _this?"_ she yanked her prisoner's arm up to eye level, displaying the glowing mark.

"I…"the elf gasped, "I don't know."

The tall woman snorted, "Indeed…"

"I don't…" she felt so many things building in her chest, sorrow, fear, anger, confusion. "So…everyone in the Conclave…"

"Dead," spat Cassandra, more forcefully than intended.

The elf hung her head, sadness overcoming her. "I can't believe it…"

The Seeker was watching her prisoner closely. _Perhaps she is telling the truth… or perhaps she is an excellent liar. _

There was silence for a moment before the elf rasped, "What happened?"

_Give her a chance,_ Solas's words echoed in the back of Cassandra's mind, and the Seeker sighed heavily. "It…will be easier to show you." She helped the elf to her feet and escorted her from the dark chamber and into the light.

The elf covered her eyes with her bound hands, squinting in the bright light, but not the light from the sun. The great glow came from only a short distance away. Hanging like a star in the middle of the sky was a great rift, green as the mark on her hand, and expanding and pulsing just as viciously. The elf gazed upon it in horror and then turned to the mark on her hand. Just then, it pulsed and she gasped, clenching her fists as the pain from the mark spasmed through her arm.

Cutting her bonds, Cassandra explained, "That is the Breach. Since it has opened, demons have been flooding through it from the fade and into our world. Some believe it is connected to the mark on your hand." At the elf's surprised look, she admitted, "It is killing you."

She was silent, for a moment, lost in her thoughts. _I'm dying? _She regarded the mark on her hand, _I wish I remembered…I don't even know if this is my fault or not. If I killed those people…_ her eyes, a luminous green, as green as the glow on her hand, were brimmed with unshed tears—tears of frustration, of pain—_I wish I could remember! _A long moment passed before she turned to the Seeker, "Do you think the mark can stop the demons?"

Cassandra considered her prisoner carefully, "There is one who thinks there might be a way…"

"I will help, if I can," the elfin lass whispered.

Another moment passed and Cassandra seemed to come to a decision. "Come with me."

_**~oOo~**_

Stumbling along behind the tall woman, the elf was made painfully aware of how exhausted she was. She was not sure how much time had elapsed from her capture to where she was now, but she was more than certain it was _not_ enough time. Muscles in her body ached that she didn't know existed and her head throbbed. _Did I hit my head back there? _She tried to remember—everything was fuzzy…

They continued past Haven and the elf felt the vicious stares from the people there, evaluating her, piercing through her, _blaming_ her. Cassandra tried to explain, but the elf already knew. She _saw_ their hate, their distrust, going far beyond the general suspicion of elves to a whole new level of animosity. Had the Seeker not been by her side, she was certain they would have torn her apart.

_I don't blame them…_ she averted her gaze, keeping pace with the tall woman, _I would be angry too._

They were nearing the Breach when a nearby rift erupted, knocking Cassandra and her prisoner back and spurting out a misshapen demon. It spied them and screeched viciously, giant claws reaching out to tear them to shreds.

"Stay back!" commanded the dark haired woman, brandishing her sword and charging the demon.

The elf was happy to comply until another demon skulked through the tear in the sky and came for _her. _She backed away slowly, knowing she couldn't outrun it. She frantically gazed for some sort of protection and then—there—twin daggers, dropped possibly by a fallen recruit, lying only a short distance away. The demon loomed closer, its hollow eyes set on its prey. Steeling her resolve, the elf jumped for the weapons, rolling gracefully out of the way as the monster attacked. When it rounded for another charge, she was ready. The great claws and hulking body swept towards her, the chill of its presence raising the hair on the back of her neck. _Just a little farther,_ she calculated its approach._ And now!_ Just as its massive talons fell, she moved, spinning out of reach and around its back, stabbing it in the back and through its dark heart. The demon shrieked in pain before imploding, its ragged clothes crumpling into a heap on the ground. The elf took a few steadying breaths when she heard the Seeker's commanding voice behind her,

"Put down your weapons."

The elf turned, still catching her breath. "Very well," she said in a calm, low voice. The Seeker was angry and armed. She did not wish a battle with the tall woman, therefore moved to comply.

"Wait…" the resigned voice came again, "I...cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to go defenseless." Cassandra shook her head and continued up the path to their destination. She slowed slightly and turned to partially face her prisoner, "I must remember that you came willingly."

_**~oOo~**_

The elf's eyes widened when they approached one of the rifts. Demons were pouring out of it in droves, more than the small group up ahead was able to handle. From across the way, a small group of demons spied her and Cassandra and instantly moved to overcome them. The elf's weapons were drawn, but she doubted the rusty daggers would do much good after a few blows. Fear made her tremble, but pride kept her in her place as she faced them. Suddenly, someone grabbed her wrist and pointed her hand at the rift,

"Quickly! Close it!" he shouted, and covered his eyes when a surge of energy spurted from the mark on her hand towards the center of the rift. The elf girl screamed at the pulsating force emitting from her palm. It lit up the sky in a blinding green light before the light seemed to shatter into a million shards. She blinked to adjust to the lack of light, startled to see another elf before her. He was a mage and his serene face held a rather pleased smile.

"Impressive," he commented.

The elfin girl stared down at her hand. The mark was still pulsing, but the energy that had been displayed before was gone, as though it had never been. "The…the mark did that? It closed the rift?"

"It seems so. The rifts are tears in the Veil between the fade and this world. You are able to seal those tears with this mark."

She blinked back her surprise, _I can help._ She wanted so badly to ask for more—to _know _more, but there was so little time. Beside her, she heard Cassandra groan in distaste. Turning to see the cause of the disturbance, she saw a dwarf approach armed with quite an extraordinary crossbow..

"Well met, kid," he chuckled. "My name's Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and sometimes unwelcome tagalong," he raised a pointed brow at Cassandra who seemed to snarl her reply.

"Your help is appreciated but I don't think it's necessary—"

"Have you _seen_ what's waiting in the valley, Seeker?" he challenged, keeping his voice amiable, "Your soldiers no longer have control. They're being decimated. I know we aren't buddy-buddy, but admit it—you _need_ me."

She shook her head, but was unable to disagree. The dwarf then turned his attention to the elf girl in front of him. "So what do they call you?"

The elfin lass swallowed, _My name…what is my name…_ and some of the jarred memories from her past began to resurface as she stammered, "Aislynn…my name is Aislynn Lavellan."

"And you can call me Solas," the elfin apostate added, "since we are all apparently socializing _here_…in the battlefield."

Varric sniggered, "Touché, Chuckles," and Aislynn did a double take when the dwarf used such a familiar nickname with the somber elf. "And apparently you've already met our righteous Seeker, Cassandra." At her angry stare, he chortled, "She needs no introductions."

Unable to stand anymore, Cassandra snapped, "All right, if you insist on coming, then we must leave _now._" Her glare quelled the joke on the tip of Varric's tongue.

She turned on her heel and sprinted down the hill towards her destination, Solas following closely behind. The dwarf chuckled before turning to follow after the other two, "Well, _Bianca's_ excited."

Aislynn's gaze swept the clearing, looking for another person. _Bianca?_ Varric watched her search for a moment and then laughed, a deep guffaw that betrayed how deeply amused he was, "My _crossbow_, Ace."

_He named his crossbow?_ The look on her face must have displayed her consternation because he laughed again before a threat from Cassandra brought them both scampering quickly down the path to catch up.


	3. Herald

_The moment we've all be waiting for... well, at least I have. :) I hope you all enjoy the third installment of _Against All Odds._ Reviews welcome!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

The first time he saw her, he thought he had died and entered the Fade. Her piercing green eyes, as green as the Breach lighting up the clouded sky, flashed with an unbridled fierceness and her long auburn hair twirled around her face as she fought and flitted from one demon to the next. Then he saw her ears, the long, delicate points protruding from her tangled locks. An _elf._ Her lithe frame carried her _everywhere_ and he watched in awe, his mouth open in wonder as she effortlessly twirled from a rage demon's clutches and sank her double daggers into lesser terror's heart before twirling back to the rage demon and stabbing its back. Something about how the exertion brought a glow to her cheeks was so stunning he just couldn't look away…

"Commander!" Cassandra's voice interrupted his thoughts and, with a start, he turned to face the Seeker.

"Cassandra," he greeted her. "You arrived just in time. We've been pushed back; we wouldn't have been able to hold position had you not closed the rift."

Her smile was ironic as she pointed to the elfin lass he had just been admiring, "The thanks belongs to our _prisoner._" She said the word pointedly, but without the malice she had once intoned.

The elf looked up at that moment and regarded them both. Her whole body tensed under their scrutiny and the Commander nodded to her in approval, "Then, I owe you my thanks, my lady." His smile, though weary, was genuine. Turning once more to Cassandra, he asked, "We can hold them off for a while longer, Seeker. How much time will you need?"

"As much as you can give us," she said.

"Very well," he nodded. "Maker watch over you," was his parting prayer for them all. His honey-brown eyes met Aislynn's once more and she blinked at the intensity of his gaze. Another moment later, and he was gone.

Aislynn wrenched her eyes away and back to the ominous rift in the sky. Her gaze hardened and she turned to Cassandra, "Let's go."

_**~oOo~**_

Standing beneath the rift, Aislynn had the distinct impression of _familiarity_. The way the green and silver mists swirled in the midst of an otherworldly brightness reminded her distinctly of what felt like a very bad dream. _Or was it a dream? _Her mind recalled the spiders and the glowing woman on the mountain. The mark on her hand pulsed and she coiled her fingers into a tight fist, anger swelling in her chest. _Not a dream…Why can't I remember?!_

Leliana's forces were stationed all around the valley. The great rift, it seemed, was inactive for the time being. Solas had advised them to be ready when it opened for it was sure to attract the attention of the Fade spirits…more importantly, the _demons. _All around the clearing in which the rift hung were soldiers, poised and ready for a battle. But all eyes within the valley were focused on one thing:

_Her._

Aislynn took a steadying breath before stepping forward. _Now or never…_ she thought. Hand outstretched, she willed the mark to life, _willed_ it to interact with its counterpart in the sky when suddenly—

"**Bring forth the Sacrifice**_**," **_Bellowed a low, demonic voice.

Every soul in the valley snapped their attention to the Rift as it began to spark and two shadowy figures materialized out of the mists.

"It's Divine Justinia!" a soldier shouted from below at the conjured image. Aislynn narrowed her eyes as she observed the scene.

"**Help! Someone help me!" **

_That voice!_ Aislynn felt her breath hitch, _The voice on the mountain!_

"**What's going on here?" **another voice joined in. Aislynn's eyes widened, for it was _her own._

"**Go! Warn the others!"**the Divine cried out, only to be overshadowed by the command of the demon.

"**Kill the elf."**

The vision dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the onlookers breathless. Cassandra's piercing gaze fell upon Aislynn, "What does this mean? That was you and the Divine! What happened?"

The Seeker's frustration only magnified the elf's own and she snapped, "I don't remember!"

Varric hefted his crossbow to his shoulder, "I'm sure this is pretty important—but what about the big hole in the sky?"

The Seeker nodded her assent to Aislynn to begin and the elf, once again, raised her hand to the Rift. Closing her eyes, she focused her energy on the mark, on her goal, and on the rift. Suddenly, the mark erupted and seared the sky, arcing to the rift. The lights collided and the rift exploded in a massive myriad of light and raw _power._ From the depths of the veil, a great wind billowed and rushed into the valley bringing with it the quickly materializing form of a giant _demon_.

It resembled an ogre—one from the tales told of the Hero of Ferelden. Massive, pointed horns sat atop its head, twisting into deadly spires. Black eyes, depthless and full of rage, sat in heavy set sockets above a gaping maw with rotting rows of pointed teeth. It swung its colossal muscled arms in an arc, punching through a stone boulder nearby and sending the shards in all directions. Purple veins popped out on its arms and neck and it roared, fierce in its bloodlust. It lumbered aimlessly a moment before its large eyes focused on its prey: the slender elf that had summoned him in the first place. With a resounding bellow, it hefted its immense legs and charged her.

Aislynn dropped from her perch within moments of the monster colliding with it. Rolling out of the way, she deftly leaped to her feet and moved to flank it. By then, it had found another target, an armored group of soldiers standing defensively to the side. _Perfect,_ she smiled grimly. More of her memory returned with every fluid move she made on the battlefield: _Dalish…hunter…Free Marches…_ The memories empowered her. _I know who I am—I have that much_. She leaped onto the demon's expansive back. It's dry, cracked skin felt like stone beneath her touch and she began to doubt her attack. _My daggers may not be able to penetrate this._ By then, the demon had taken note of her presence and was taking measures to remove her. Its arms flailed wildly, trying to dislodge her, but she clung tightly to one of its horns, positioning her dagger to pierce its spinal cord. _I have to let go, _she thought with no small amount of doubt. _Do it now!_ Her instincts screamed, so she did, releasing the horn and thrusting down on the dagger with all her might, both hands pressing it till the hilt collided and could go no further.

The pain enraged the monster and it thrashed wildly, tossing Aislynn to the ground like a ragdoll. She let her body roll, rather than resist, knowing the collision was unavoidable. Lying on her back, fighting for breath, she could see the rift, still present, but flashing in irregular spasms. With what strength she had left as she felt her senses begin to slip, she raised her hand to the rift again, letting the power flow through her palm and join with the rift again. This time, the impact was brighter. It expanded, shrank, expanded again and finally _exploded._ The demon shrieked in pain and rage before being sucked back into the abyss from which it came. The light encased the entire valley, blinding the rest of the soldiers and archers in the field. And then—_nothing._

The rift was gone.

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn awoke with a start to the sound of small footsteps. She sat up quickly, thinking she must somehow still be in the valley, expecting the demon to be looming over her, but she saw nothing of the sort. Her panicked glances fell on a cozy hovel, curtained windows, full bookshelves, a writing desk, and a very frightened elf girl who, upon being discovered, dropped the box she was holding solidly onto the wooden floor. With a squeak, the girl collapsed to the floor,

"My lady!"

Regulating her breathing, Aislynn managed to ask, "Where am I?"

"You're in Haven, m'lady," the nervous voice replied, slinking back to the door. "I must tell Lady Cassandra you've awakened. She said at once!" and she scurried out of the room before Aislynn had a chance to even collect her thoughts.

Utterly confused, Aislynn took a deep breath and turned her focus to her surroundings. The bed in which she lay was warm and the woolen blankets enveloping her rough but comforting. She wore simple leggings and a comfortable, fitted tunic. _How did I get into these?_ she wondered, trying to recall the events previous. _I must have blacked out after…after the demon._ And then her eyes widened, _the Rift!_ She tumbled out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor, completely entangled in blankets. Struggling to free herself, she staggered to the window and gazed out across the valley. One large rift still hung in the sky, farther away, but the rift above the temple was gone.

Aislynn sighed in relief, sinking back onto the floor. Across the wooden hovel was a pair of small boots. They appeared her size and she felt a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. _We're not finished here…_

Gingerly, she stood to her feet and padded across the floor. She smiled wryly at the socks on her feet, wiggling her toes under the heavy fabric. Her clan had never worn such frivolous things, preferring to feel connected with the earth they traversed. Still, the socks were warm, and Aislynn was grateful for that commodity. She donned the leather boots and, taking a deep breath, moved to face what waited for her just beyond the hovel doors.

Hushed whispers greeted her as she stepped onto the snowy trail.

"There she is! The Herald of Andraste!"

"She saved us all—"

"Closed the rift in the sky."

"I heard she faced a hundred demons singlehandedly!"

The flurry of voices overwhelmed her senses and she ducked her head, trying to avoid eye contact with the crowd of unabashed onlookers. One soldier stepped forward and bowed, "My lady, we owe you our lives."

She stammered, "Ser…" nodding back to him politely. "Where might I find Seeker Cassandra?"

He smiled at her acknowledgement and pointed her to the large Chantry on the other side of the village, "She is just within."

"Thank you," she murmured and took off at a restrained sprint towards the sanctuary of the Chantry.

_Herald of Andraste?_


	4. Where Do We Begin?

_Good evening, Dragon Age fans! I hope you're enjoying this series. The more I play the game, the more addicted to it I become. Questions, comments, and reviews are all welcome. As the story progresses I'll branch out beyond the plots on the game to the twists and tie-ins that I have in mind. Until then, please enjoy, and thank you for reading._

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Aislynn paused before the doors of the Chantry, looking up…_way_ up. The intricately carved Chant of Light framed the doorway, engraved into the stone and written in native Ferelden, and the massive stone spires seemed to pierce the sky. Windows—_glass_ windows, a luxury _anywhere_ in Thedas—were placed all across the length of the building. _An army could fit comfortably in here,_ she guessed. And then a wry smile graced her lips, _I hope their Maker is pleased. It is quite grand. _Truthfully, she felt tiny and so very out of place standing next to the majestic building. Biting her lower lip, knowing she could not delay much longer, she entered the Chantry proper.

Her eyelids fluttered as she adjusted to the light difference. Outside, the radiant sun warmed her skin and lit her path, but inside the Chantry, the only warmth came from the sparse candles that they could spare and the torches that lined the hallway. She took a few tentative steps forward, searching for the formidable Seeker. As she passed through the hall, the hushed whispers she heard outside touched her ears all the same in the Chantry—the same hearsays and tall tales about a _Herald of Andraste. _Some things said of her made her smile. _A thousand demons with one blow? Really? _Their words of awe and wonder made her sound almost God-like, and for a moment she grew nervous standing in the center of the Maker's Chantry. _It's nothing personal…Sir._ _Do you even call a god Sir?_

As she approached the end of the hall, she could hear raised voices filtering through a closed door. Pressing her ear gently up against it, her heart sank realizing they were arguing about _her._ One of the voices was Cassandra, stalwartly defending her choice; the other, Chancellor Roderick, adamant that Cassandra had made the _wrong_ one. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest as she opened the door to confront the battling voices.

"Arrest her! I want her chained immediately and sent to Val Royeaux!" the Chancellor commanded before her foot was even in the door.

"Stand down," Cassandra growled to the soldiers nearby. "And leave us." The guards deferred to her leadership and, bowing, left the room, closing the door behind Aislynn.

A figure moved in the shadows and the elf swiveled to face it. The stranger was hooded in a fine cloak that hung to her ankles, her tunic well-fitted and ornate, but durable. Red hair framed a chiseled, pale face and bright, penetrating blue eyes stared, cold and calculating, back at Aislynn's green ones. Her eyes spoke of mystery and experience, more expressive, Aislynn thought, than the frown she wore on her face as she turned to confront the Chancellor.

"You would just let her go after everything she's done?" the man raged, gesturing wildly at the elf. "After everything that's happened, you're going to let her by?"

The hooded woman intervened, "What evidence do _you_ have to support your claims? We have _many _suspects, Chancellor. And your name has not yet been eliminated, either."

His face turned a deep shade of crimson, "You suspect _me?"_

"You…" she affirmed. "Among many others."

Cassandra added, "It's quite convenient that _you_ are the sole survivor of a Conclave you were not invited to. One would think you may have had an ulterior motive."

Chancellor Roderick's temper exploded, "You _dare_ to accuse me! Well, it doesn't matter. The Chantry will have no part of this; it will _not_ support this ridiculous endeavor."

"And I tell you we _will_ renew the Inquisition," snapped the Seeker, her accent thickening with every impassioned breath. "It was Divine Justinia's last request that it be reinstated and we _will_ see it through. We _will _close the Breach."

"Be it upon your own head, _Seeker," _spat the Chancellor, turning on his heel and shoving out the now open door past where the Commander stood.

The Commander exchanged a knowing glance with Cassandra before gently shutting the door, "I can't say I'm sorry I missedthat."

"No matter," Cassandra waved her hand dismissively. "You arrived just in time."

The Commander's eyes met Aislynn's as he passed and a faint smile touched his lips. For the first time, she noticed the jagged scar running just above his upper lip and she shuddered, wondering what manner of wound would have been sustained to obtain it. He wore full armor again, she noted: flawless steel with stained black and red pauldrons adorning his shoulders and a crimson cape flowing behind. His curly blond hair had been masterfully tamed save for the stubble on his chin, as he had neglected to shave. It was his eyes, however, that caught her breath: honey-brown and kind, but _intense._ His voice, low and masculine, greeted her, "I'm glad you made it out safely. It is good to see you again."

His greeting brought Cassandra out of her dark thoughts, "Aislynn." She rubbed her temples, "I apologize you had to witness that outburst; please, come in. You should not have to hide in the shadows."

Doing as bidden, Aislynn stepped to the large table in the center of the room. Light from the window behind shone down upon it. Spread across the table's entirety was a map of Thedas, stretching from the far western plains of Orlais to Ferelden in the East. There were strange pieces scattered across the board that she assumed were meant for strategic purposes. She fingered a small piece off to the side while she waited. She wasn't able to shake the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach and she hoped that the Commander and the Seeker weren't able to see how clearly unprepared and frightened she felt. She had never been especially good at shuttering away her emotions, and she hoped this flaw was not betraying her just yet.

The door behind her opened one more time and another woman entered, raven black hair framing a tanned, young face. Her dark brown eyes held intelligence and mischief as she appraised Aislynn and a smile curved her ruby lips. The accent in her voice betrayed her Antivan origin as she greeted Aislynn, "Greetings, I do hope I haven't missed anything."

Cassandra stepped from behind the table to stand beside Aislynn. "Now that we're all present, I want to introduce you to the Inquisition's advisors."

Aislynn regarded the three new faces solemnly as Cassandra spoke. "First, our Ambassador, Lady Josephine Montilyet. She is our head diplomat and responsible for the liaisons between the Inquisition and other countries—especially their nobility."

"A pleasure," she dipped politely to Aislynn.

"Next is the Commander of the Inquisition's forces: Cullen Rutherford. He oversees all the soldiers and strategic planning within the ranks." The man's half-smile returned and he nodded his greeting to her.

The last woman introduced herself, "My name is Leliana and my position requires a measure of—"

"Leliana is our spymaster," Cassandra finished bluntly.

"Thank you, Cassandra, for putting it in such plain terms," The spymaster grimaced.

Undeterred, the Seeker continued, this time addressing Aislynn, "Since you and the mark on your hand have successfully been able to close the Rift, we hope to continue our efforts to close the Breach, as well." She pointed to a spot on the map, "However, something as powerful as what originally opened the Breach may be needed to seal it again. That sort of magic is not easy to come by. We had hoped to gain alliance with the rebel mages. Perhaps their accumulated power would be enough to energize that mark and close the Breach for good."

"And I still disagree," Cullen interjected, crossing his arms. "That kind of power flowing through one single conduit might kill her. The Templars' training is meant to stifle that kind of magic. A force of them combined could nullify the effects of the Breach long enough for the mark to seal it."

"The Breach requires a great deal of power—"

"Power that the Templars can quell. _I was_ a Templar. I know what they are capable of," he insisted, his voice dropping to a lower, quieter tone and Aislynn observed the change curiously.

Josephine scribbled something on a parchment she carried and sighed, "Unfortunately, neither side will even consider speaking to us. _That _is something we are going to have to deal with _before_ the issue of the Breach is even discussed." Lady Montilyet added after a short pause, "And now, according to Chancellor Roderick—or so I'm assuming from the colorful argument that the _entire_ Chantry heard—" she cast a critical glance towards the Seeker, "we have lost the support of the Chantry as well. The Inquisition will have to gain agents and support elsewhere if we are to have a chance at becoming a viable leader."

Aislynn shifted uncomfortably. _All this talk of nobility and mages and templars and britches—I mean, Breaches. _She turned her gaze to those standing before her and felt her ears turn a shade of pink as she posed the question that had been irking her, "Why are they calling me the Herald of Andraste?"

Cassandra stopped bickering with Cullen for a moment to face Aislynn directly, "Some say that, when they found you, they had seen you walk out of the Fade. A woman was with you and some insist that it was Andraste herself that saved you."

Cullen uncrossed his arms, one hand reaching up instead to rub the back of his neck, and added, "The explosion ravaged an entire temple—the Temple of Sacred Ashes—where Andraste's ashes had once lain. Everyone within a mile died instantly." And his gentle eyes met hers again, "Except for you."

"It is too much of a coincidence to be anything but divine intervention," explained Leliana. "They call you the Herald of Andraste as evidence to the miracle they witnessed." The words rolled off her tongue delicately, enhancing her Orlesian accent, and Aislynn had to focus to catch the words she said.

"But," Aislynn protested, "I'm an elf. Why would the Maker send an _elf_—the least accepted race in Thedas?"

Cassandra shook her head, "You appeared to the people at the time of their need, the moment we needed you." Her gaze was piercing, "You saved lives out there and closed the rifts, not to mention the stories they tell of your survival. You very well could be Her chosen."

With a gleam of humor in his eyes, Cullen asked, "Herald of Andraste…how does that title feel to you?"

Aislynn shook her head, feeling the weight of the situation being to settle on her shoulders, "It feels…odd." She let out the breath she had been holding, "But what if I'm _not_ Her chosen? What will that do to the people when they find out? Your Inquisition is new. The last thing your followers need is someone standing for something they are not and exploiting their faith."

The look in the Commander's eyes changed to one of respect. "Perhaps we'll never know, but Cassandra is right. You came to us when we needed you. And," he insisted, softly, "_that_ has to count for something."

_Accidents don't happen. All things happen for a reason…_she heard the words in her mind as clearly as if her Keeper was standing beside her in the room. _Much responsibility is required of those to whom much power is given… _Aislynn considered the glowing mark in her hand. _Perhaps this is my chance. Perhaps this is the difference I can make, no matter how small of a contribution it is. _She felt her fear warring against her reason. _There's no going back. I'll never be able to live with myself if I knew I had the chance to help and I didn't…_

Aislynn met their gazes individually, her green eyes flashing with a passion that lit up her entire face. "If you'll have me, I want to be a part of this—the Inquisition."

Cassandra's stoic expression shattered and the smile that followed was radiant, "We could not do this without you."

The elfin lass returned her smile, feeling something else replace the fear and doubt that had been nagging her in the back of her mind: _belonging_.

"So…where do we begin?"


	5. So It Begins

_Thank you to all of you who have added my story to favorites or have decided to follow it. It is a great encouragement and I look forward to continuing Aislynn's journey with you. As always, reviews, comments, adds-of any kind-are all welcome. Please enjoy the next chapter of _Against All Odds.

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Commander Cullen leaned over the war table, pointing to a southern region on the map, "This area is the Hinterlands. We can set up operations all throughout the area; it's strategically perfect. However," his eyes moved to meet Aislynn's, "this area is in the heart of the mage and Templar conflict. More than likely, you'll have confrontations with them."

The elf crossed her arms, "Confrontations, Commander?"

He was taken aback at the sternness of her voice, having never expected her normally quiet tone to have that kind of severity, "Yes, Herald. I'm sending a dispatch of troops with you through the area. They'll help you fill requisitions and set up command posts."

Her expression softened, "I'm sorry, but I wondered about that. I know I'm amazing, Commander, but I'm not _that_ good."

The smile he gave was nervous and he stammered, "Right then." _Maker's Breath_, he thought_, what was I saying? _"So the Hinterlands are stra…oh wait, I already said that." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Sorry, my lady. The main objective," he cleared his throat, trying to recover, but already feeling the flush of embarrassment cover his face, "is reaching out to the Horsemaster there. His name is Dennett and the Inquisition could use his help with mounts for the troops. Talk to him; see if we can gain an alliance with him."

_He's not used to being teased like that,_ Aislynn smiled to herself, watching him fumble for words. _This could be fun._

Cullen's own thoughts were much more negative than those of the woman across from him. _What a lasting first impression you've made, you idiot. _ _The Commander of all the Inquisition's forces reduced to babbling at the first official war council._

"Also, there are other rifts scattered across the countryside, adding to the trouble the people already face." Cullen pointed to more locations in the Hinterlands and added, "If you could seal those, we could greatly reduce the casualties in that area."

"Not to mention, the reputation you gain by these feats will bring others to join our cause," Josephine interjected. "The more pull you gain with these people, the better chance we have at gaining superior allies."

Leliana, when Josephine had finished, also suggested, "Mother Giselle of the Chantry there has requested to speak with you. I believe her…connections…would be of interest to you. A connection within the Chantry could be the first step into gaining a foothold elsewhere."

Aislynn nodded her assent, masking her nervousness with humor, "Scout Hinterlands, find Mother Giselle, close rifts, get Dennett, and don't die." She grinned, "Does that about cover everything?"

Cullen's face snapped up to search hers, trying to determine if she was teasing again. Her wry smile gave her away and he relaxed, "That is…the goal, yes."

"I will go with you," Cassandra offered, stepping forward to stand beside Aislynn. The elf nodded in appreciation as the Seeker took over, "We'll need to leave as soon as possible."

"We can have everything prepared and ready for you to leave in the morning," Josephine said with a polite nod. "I shall attend to those now, if you'll excuse me." She slipped past the others and stepped out to her office, scribbling notes of alliances and amenities on the board she always carried.

Three days had passed since Aislynn had first been introduced to the Inquisition's advisors—_her_ advisors, as it seemed to be, for most of the decisions were not made without her input. This was the first official war council they had and she couldn't help but smile at the turn of events.

_It seems that my clan has an odd talent for ending up in plots of death and war. I should write to Karia soon…she'll want to hear all about this, I'm sure._ It had been weeks since she had written her cousin, but then again, living the life that Karia did, Aislynn was sure that the absence of correspondence had hardly been missed. _Must be tough being a celebrity…_

"What's this I hear about scouting the Hinterlands?" asked a familiar voice behind her.

Aislynn whirled in surprise, "Varric!"

"I mean," he grinned, "after all this time, you wouldn't think about _leaving_ me here, would you?" He rocked back and forth on his heels, an impudent smile on his face.

The elf blushed, "I suppose I didn't think you'd want to go." Then she chuckled, "I'm not sure if Cassandra would be able to stand it if you did."

"All the more reason for me to go, Ace," he insisted.

"Of course, Varric," she agreed. "To be honest, we could really use your help."

He walked with her to her quarters in companionable silence for a while, lost in thought. Before they reached the tavern, however, he spoke again, "So…now that Cassandra isn't here…how _are_ you holding up? I mean, you survived a massive explosion, stepped out of the Fade, nearly died sealing a giant rift, and you're now being called the Herald of Andraste… most people would have tried to spread that out for over more than one day."

The elf stopped walking, hugging her cloak tightly about her against the chill of the Ferelden winter air. She was silent for a long moment before answering him, "To tell you the truth…sometimes it still doesn't feel _real._ As though this is all a dream and we're going to wake up tomorrow and have a good laugh about it." Her smile to him then was weak, "They call me Herald, and it feels like a different person answers them. Even the advisors…it just…everything seems so sudden."

He nodded, understanding written in his expression, "I know what you mean—it _does_ feel like a dream, doesn't it? If this is just the Maker riling us up, there had better be a damn good punch line." Varric gave her a reassuring smile, "I just wanted to say I've got your back, kid. It's a big thing you've got going on."

Aislynn watched him go, her bright eyes brimming with moisture. She blinked quickly to dissipate them. _It won't do for Haven to see their new Herald crying—over nothing._ Her thoughts took on a sober tone as she determined, _they can't see me falter._

Taking heart from Varric's words, she tilted her chin up in pride and _defiance_—to the Breach, to the templar and mage war, and to the _world._

_**~oOo~**_

He watched her leave with no small amount of trepidation. After all, Cassandra was entrusting the future of the entire Inquisition to someone whom she had so adamantly labeled a murderer and a traitor, not even a few days previous. _Then again,_ he thought with the slightest of grins, _Cassandra has never been one for having anything but one strong opinion after another._ His gloved hands gripped the wooden ramparts as he leaned against them, squinting against the brightness of the dawning sun. Even in the wee hours of the morning, the entire town of Haven was bustling with activity. Already, recruits were swarming about the camp with reports that demanded attention. _No rest for the wicked, _he grimaced, feeling the scar on his lip tighten at the movement.

"Commander," another voice caught his attention and he reluctantly turned from watching the Herald, her companions, and his soldiers disappear on the horizon.

"Report," he acknowledged, hand reaching out for the parchment the young man held in his trembling hands. Cullen realized then that he did not recognize the recruit and eyed him suspiciously when the boy lingered after delivering his message. He cleared his throat, startling the recruit, "Did you need something else?"

The recruit swallowed fiercely, "N-no, sir. I was instructed to stay with you, sir, until you had read it, sir."

The Commander's scowl seemed to cow the young man and he took a step back as the Commander moved to make his way to the Chantry. Cullen unrolled the parchment and felt his heart sink, recognizing the distinct lettering. He stole a glance at the fidgeting man beside him and gave him a pointed glare. Ever so carefully, the boy stepped back, further and further, before turning on his heel and sprinting away as fast as his gangly legs could carry him. Alone, for the moment, Cullen folded the parchment and stowed it in a fold in his armor. He would take time to respond to it once his other duties were seen to.

If letters had voices, this one, he was sure, would be _screaming._

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn breathed the fresh scent of Hinterland air, reveling in how the breeze tossed her hair and cooled her skin. They had set up a successful camp in the heart of the region and the elf was eager for the rest of the journey to be underway. Scout Harding had indicated that the Crossroads, where Mother Giselle resided for the time being, was a mere mile from their location and several promising locations had been spotted for them to establish satellite sites. The elf felt hopeful. _Perhaps this mission won't be as impossible as it seemed. Perhaps it was just the air in the war room…_

Varric ambled up beside her as Scout Harding debriefed her about the ins and outs of the Hinterlands, interrupting them after a small pause, "C'mere, Ace." He waved her over and she excused herself politely.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, moving to stand with him.

He chuckled, "Not yet, but it might be later. I'll let you get back to me on that one. In the meantime, put these on," he passed her a bundle. She reached for it and nearly dropped it after feeling its weight.

"What is this?"

"Your new best friend. Put it on, _then_ finish with Scout Harding. You'll feel better in a few minutes. Trust me," he winked and strolled off, whistling to himself a sordid tavern tune.

Aislynn unwrapped the bundle, her eyes widening to discover a sturdy leather armor ensemble. She wondered, for a brief moment, whom the dwarf had connived to acquire such fine armor, but did not dwell on it, choosing instead to take his advice and put it on. The vest was sturdy, but surprisingly comfortable and form fitting. After lacing the front of the tunic, she pulled on the abnormally long boots. She marveled at how tall they were, reaching up to her thighs and she couldn't help but feel a little self conscious about them. She was, however, grateful for how comfortable they were on her feet. Last were her gloves—archer's gloves—she observed with a smile. Fitting her hand like a gauntlet, they extended the full length of her forearms and flared to cover her elbows, but not encase them, for flexibility. The final piece was her cloak, a forest green that accented the color of her eyes. Admiring herself, she admitted that she looked quite formidable, if not a bit woodsy. It pleased her and she flashed a smile at the dwarf observing her from across the camp. His thumbs up of approval only widened her smile.

At that moment, Cassandra approached, appraising the elf silently. Aislynn turned to greet her and the Seeker nodded in approval, "The armor suits you. The Commander chose well."

"The Commander?" Aislynn's voice was incredulous.

"We tend to defer to his opinions in the matters of arms and armor, for good reason," explained the tall woman.

Thoughtfully, the elf nodded, suspicion rising at the unrequited gesture, "Then I suppose I shall have to thank him when we return."

"Although, I believe another opinion may have determined the size…" she looked the ensemble over critically when suddenly her eyes caught Varric's. The way the dwarf ducked and disappeared behind Solas's tent gave her her answer. "Excuse me, Herald…" she growled and strode away.

Aislynn watched her go with an amused tilt of her head. She promised she would address the matter of the armor when she returned to Haven, but until then—

"Herald?" Scout Harding's voice beckoned her back to reality, "In regards to Master Dennett…"

_Ah, _Aislynn sighed inwardly, _so it begins…_


	6. Fly

_Hello again, friends! Thank you all for the adds and favorites. You all make this worth it! _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Sparks, fire, and ice flew around her in a frenzy of shouts and curses. Beside her, the ground shook and sent her tumbling backwards, down the small hillock on which she had stationed herself. Where she _had_ been a spire of ice now stood and Aislynn shuddered knowing how close to death she had come, once again. Scampering around the hill, the elf grasped her bow and shot another arrow at the apostate attacking her. Mere survival was not an option at this point. _Victory—_complete and utter victory—would be the only way to stop the half-crazed mages.

Stalwartly to her left, stood Varric. Bianca's bolts were whizzing through the air as fast as his deft fingers could load them while Solas, not far from that, covered his position with an adept spell of warding. Aislynn's ward had long since been shattered by a traumatic fire spell that exploded before her. Her ears were _still_ ringing from the blast. Ducking another jolt of a chain lightning spell, Aislynn set aside her bow and drew her daggers. The mages' wards were knocking her arrows to the side as easily as if the shafts were made of straw. So, steeling her resolve, she _ran_, flitting between the trees and rocks that scattered the area and circled behind the enemy lines; and then, swiftly and deadly like a wildcat, she _pounced._

The rebel mage barely had time to turn around before Aislynn's daggers had pierced his heart. He crumpled to the ground and the spell he had been casting dissipated instantly. Nimble feet carried the elf through the shadows to her next target. She struck a solid blow to his side, but the mage had noticed her just in time and spun his staff around to strike her. Aislynn moved just in time to avoid major impact, but the tip still grazed her leg and she found herself tumbling forward. Fury filled the mage as a spell of fire swirled on the tip of his staff and she barely had enough time to roll away before the spell blasted.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see another figure barreling towards them and her eyes lit up in anticipation. _Not much longer—I need to hold him here._ The infuriated apostate shot spell after spell at the elf, but she continued to dodge, albeit scarcely at times, but just long enough for Cassandra to tear through the forest and run him through with her longsword. The man gurgled in pain as the light in his eyes extinguished and he fell dead to the ground.

It was victory, after all.

Panting, the Seeker held out her hand and helped Aislynn to her feet, "The King's road should be much safer now with the Mage threat eliminated. The entire base is cleared out."

Aislynn brushed the brambles from her clothes and nodded her thanks to Cassandra as Varric and Solas joined them from where they had been positioned. Solas reached out to his fellow elf gently, "You're bleeding, lethallan," and grasped her wrist in his thin hands. "Allow me?" he asked yet chose not to wait for her approval. A blue light glimmered in his hand as he hovered it over her wounds. The cool touch of his healing magic washed over her and she felt a new respect flare for her companion and his skills.

"Thank you, Solas," her eyes betrayed what her voice could not and he nodded in understanding.

"Of course."

Having caught her breath, Aislynn took a moment to evaluate her surroundings—but what she saw sickened her. Bloodied bodies littered the ground, patches of ice scattered across the clearing among several burn scars where spells had gone awry. The small elf had to hold back the nausea she felt at the sight of the battleground. Some had died with snarls of defiance still on their faces and she found she could not look at their void, misted eyes. _They were fighting for a cause…dying for what they believed in. _Her heart sank, _And yet here I am, part of another cause, fighting for the 'right thing.' They just wanted to be free…_

"You all right, Ace?" Varric murmured beside her, keeping his voice low so as not to claim attention from the others.

She shook her head, "I'm…all right," and tried to smile, but found it came as more of a grimace.

The dwarf knew better than to the push the matter, instead, giving her a reassuring smile and pat on the arm before moving to help the others collect what valuables they could find for trade at the Crossroads.

Aislynn's soul was troubled as, after another moment, she turned away to help her comrades. _We can do better than this. We can give them more…_

_**~oOo~**_

The sun was sinking when Aislynn and her comrades returned to the Redcliffe Village farms near their recently established camp. A new flag waved high above the valley bearing the symbol of the Inquisition—a sword and eye afield with rays of light surrounding. Weary and haggard, they entered Master Dennett's house with the scouted sites for the watchtowers and proof of the death of the wolves. He greeted them gruffly and Aislynn presented him the tokens.

"We've done as you've asked, Master Dennett," she pointed to the map. "We will have our soldiers here within a few days to erect these towers. And this," she pulled out another package, "is the heart of the demon that possessed the wolves. Your lands, at least for the time being, are safe."

The man's eyes softened and his words of thanks were genuine. "You have my entire stables, then, my lady. They'll be sent to Haven immediately."

"You send your horses…" she began, "but what of yourself?"

For a moment, he stumbled over his words, "I don't feel right about leaving Redcliffe to be Horsemaster elsewhere."

It was Cassandra who spoke then, "You are a true Andrastian, are you not? Would you not give the Maker your best?"

Dennett considered her words, "I…_do_ serve the Maker…and…" he sighed. "I could not honestly live with myself were I to turn this down. The Inquisition promises to end the fighting and seal the sky—Redcliffe should be involved. I'll take the horses to Haven myself, if need be."

Business concluded, the group departed, eager to curl into their bedrolls at camp and be finished. It had been a long day and their journey had only just begun, for tomorrow they would be scouting out the Templar encampment that had been harassing the passersby and from there, the rifts.

Aislynn bid the members of her group goodnight and watched them enter their respective tents. It had been a taxing day and she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her head throb with a headache she had been trying to ignore for half the night. She turned away from her own tent and slipped into the adjacent woods, feeling the night envelope her in a comforting, familiar blanket of darkness. She lifted herself into an oak tree and curled into the crook of a branch with a sigh of relief, one leg stretched across the length of the bough and the other swinging lazily aside.

The moon above her was full and bright, completely unaffected by the torment below. Twinkling in chorus were the lovely stars, supporting the moon's elegance with a delicate beauty of their own. The elf breathed in the crisp night air, feeling her senses clear. There was something about the woods. Perhaps the smell of the earth, the feel of dew on her fingertips and grass beneath her bare feet, the sound of the birds and woodland animals…whatever it was, Aislynn knew she always had a haven beneath the boughs of the trees, among the pathways of green. It was _home_, wherever she was.

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen stepped out from the confines of his office and made his way to the edge of town. The day had been one situation after another. Recruits and agents were flooding in from various parts of the Hinterlands, the Herald's doing, no doubt. And while it was a credit to the Inquisition, it proved to be no end of problems. Already the mages and Templars amongst their ranks seeking refuge from the rebellion were at each other's throats, blaming one another for the death of the Divine. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep them apart before they simply trampled him.

Leaning against the wooden gate of the city, he allowed himself a sigh of relief as he gazed at the full moon. At that moment he realized how long it had been since he had taken the time to do such a thing. He worked himself ragged, most days, feeling almost guilty for taking time away from the reports and the planning and the training. By now, he knew each one of his soldiers' names by heart, and he was trying to memorize their families now, if not by sight then at least by name. They _mattered_ to him, and while it was extremely exhausting it was equally as rewarding.

They respected him, looked up to him. And he'd be _damned_ before he let them down.

The cool night wind blew and he closed his eyes, letting the soft breeze caress his face and even tousle his hair out of place. For a moment, his thoughts wandered to those in the Hinterlands and he wondered how they were faring. Due to the influx of refugees and agents, he assumed that it must have been going well. Unbidden, images of the Herald's bright green eyes flashed in his mind, memory of seeing her in battle and the sound of her voice at the war table.

It baffled him, her desire to help the Inquisition. They had taken her prisoner, sent her into the heat of battle, forced her to use a power she had no knowledge of—or so he assumed. Yet, when it came down to it, she had stepped in where another would have run away. She bore the responsibility of many on her shoulders and, behind her wry smile and flashing eyes, he could sense a heart that cared more than it cared to share.

He prayed to the Maker for their safety before turning and heading back into the lion's den of paperwork and problems.

_**~oOo~**_

"Sit still, Ace, you're rockin' the boat," Varric laughed as Aislynn peeked her head out of the caravan flap for the umpteenth time that day.

A sheepish grin spread across her face, but she chortled back, "I just thought Bianca needed some fresh air. After all, she sits behind _you_ for most of this trip."

"If we left it up to you, she'd catch her death of cold—or fall out," he said, gripping the side of the caravan as it lurched.

She smiled as his discomfort. Varric felt at home almost anywhere—_except_ the back of a moving wagon. For some strange reason, it pleased her—just a little.

Cassandra huffed as the wagon pitched forward again. Unable to resist, she leaned out of the wagon to censure the driver which caused the wagon to lean precariously—again—while Varric slapped a hand to his forehead.

"You're killin' me, Smalls…"

The driver and Cassandra cursed at each other colorfully and Aislynn's face turned a bright shade of red at some of the insults hurled between the two. She and Varric exchanged mirthful glances before, laughing, she hopped out of the lumbering caravan and onto the grassy field. They were only a few miles from Haven and Aislynn was eager to return. Discarding her boots and tossing them back into the wagon—which elicited a shout from Varric, forced to dodge them—she smiled to feel the soft green blades of grass between her toes. The wind from off the plains tousled her hair and she laughed, turning and leaning into the wind, letting it blow her hair behind her ears.

She felt _free _with her long hair flowing and her arms outstretched, twirling in the open air. Her bright eyes sought out the other elf in their company, eventually spying him farther ahead of the group, walking alone. She flitted to his side and greeted him with a smile,

"Solas!"

His smile was distant as he responded, "Ar lasa mala revas."

Her smile was thoughtful. "_'_You are free…'" she repeated. "Perhaps you are right. But why do you say so?"

"You are most yourself at times such as these," he said of his observations. "While you can hold your own in a battle, can command a strong presence, and be decisive, your heart is at peace among the woods and meadows and streams."

Aislynn regarded him thoughtfully, "You are right, Solas. I am most at home in places such as this." She gestured to the area, "It is a haven of sorts for me." Then she smiled and shook her head, her auburn hair settling behind her shoulder, "Enough of me, though, Solas. We have traveled together now for a few days and I know next to nothing of you. Tell me something of yourself."

"Why?" his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I respect you," was the instant response. "I read Leliana's report on you—elven apostate in the middle of a rebellion, sacrificing so much to support a fledgling group such as the Inquisition. Not to mention, I watched you—not just this past week, but at the Rift. You are quite knowledgeable," her eyes met his, "and brave."

The elf mage relaxed visibly, his hard expression diminishing, "I apologize for my suspicion, lethallan."

They talked amicably for a while. Solas had many interesting ideas about the Fade and of spirits. Aislynn was fascinated with his knowledge and he was just as fascinated with her curiosity. _It is almost too bad that she is not a mage. She would be quite proficient,_ he found himself thinking as he answered yet another question of hers. The way her eyes lit up when she reached understanding, the exhilaration in her smile—he hoped she never lost that part of her, that _inquisitiveness_ and zest for life that made her all the more endearing.

Eventually, the rest of her comrades filtered out of the wagon, unable to stand the lurching and tilting of the cart. Cassandra found them first and approached them, directing a question to Solas, which he answered, politely, but Aislynn knew their conversation had been cut much too short. Distancing herself, again, from the bustling caravan and the _large_ herd of horses, led by Dennett and his stable hands, Aislynn once again gave her spirit over to the feel of the open air and the precious moments of solitude before the imminent arrival at Haven.

_If only I could fly…_


	7. Enchanted

_A special thanks to Jord and Fates-Love-Queen for their reviews! This chapter has taken most of the day to rewrite and I'm still not satisfied with it. __ I guess we'll see how it goes. Thank you for all the favorites and follows – I couldn't do this without you. _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Cullen scrawled the last note on his report before striding impatiently from his office, scrip and board firmly in hand. Leliana's spies had sent word ahead that a large group was nearing Haven and was expected to arrive within the hour. However, it was nearing dusk and the hour was nearly up and, _Maker's breath,_ the Commander cursed, exasperated, _why do I feel so impatient?_ Blaming it on lack of sleep, he turned over his report to one of Leliana's agents and strode to the gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of the coming convoy.

Climbing the stairs to look over the man-made wall surrounding Haven, he let his eyes wander the horizon line. After staring for what seemed like years, and nearly ready to give up, a motion caught his attention, just over the ridge. He squinted in the fading light, trying to discern the person and he had to catch his breath when he recognized her.

Aislynn was atop a Fereldan Forder, a sturdy yet beautiful horse provided by Master Dennett, and _racing_ back to Haven. From where he stood on the ramparts, he could see every lovely detail. Her long auburn hair was flowing behind her, exhilaration adding a becoming blush to her pale cheeks. He watched as she leaned forward and let go of the reins, holding her arms out as if to embrace the wind itself. And Cullen felt his heart flip when he saw her smile—wild and impassioned—as free as the wind and sky.

He was _enchanted_.

_**~oOo~**_

_I can fly! _ She thought, stretching her arms out to the wind as she rode towards the village of Haven. _I'm riding the wind! _She slowed as she neared the gates, reining her horse in to a trot. It was strange, but she had missed the small town and its people. _I've never had a place to miss, before,_ she realized. _Even before the Conclave…_

And then she saw him. _I would recognize that armor anywhere,_ she thought. It brought a small smile to her face, seeing someone she recognized among the group of gathering onlookers. Tentatively, she raised her hand, waving it in greeting. The man flushed, rubbing the back of his neck, and she giggled—_he's embarrassed…_

Cullen felt the heat rising in his cheeks after being caught blatantly staring. _Not only do you look like a babbling fool, but a drooling lecher..._ he cursed at himself, striding down the rampart steps to greet the incoming travelers. _Maker's breath, act normal!_ By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the flush on his face had dissipated slightly. He caught sight of the rest of the group coming in droves over the ridge and he felt no small amount of surprise. Glancing from the slight elf to the horde of followers, he could scarcely believe the fortuitous outcome.

_Cassandra made the right choice, after all,_ he thought with the touch of a smile_._ He moved forward to greet the Herald of Andraste just as she was dismounting, offering to help her down. The expression she gave was one of surprise, but she allowed him to help her off of the horse. The moment she was down, he quickly dropped his hand and cleared his throat.

"My lady, by the looks of it you've had a successful first mission." He smiled lopsidedly, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Josephine and Leliana are awaiting your presence in the war room."

The elf's raised a brow and greeted him archly, "I'm glad to be back, too, Commander."

Again, he flushed, realizing his bad manners. The Commander stammered quickly, "Blast, I'm sorry—welcome back, Herald. I meant to—"

Her laugh stopped his futile attempts to correct his misstep. "Don't mind me, Commander. I'll head to the war room as soon as possible. I want to be sure that Falon is seen to," she patted the horse's neck, stepping lightly past him and heading to the stables.

He watched her go, completely chagrined. Rubbing his gloved hand down his face, he groaned, _Maker, but I'm a dolt…_ Turning to the group of loitering recruits, all of whom had witnessed his unfortunate conversation with the Herald, Cullen began barking orders, sending them out to assist those who would soon be entering the city. Other recruits, he sent to ensure that rooms were available and ready. _Give me soldiers and swords, but—Maker preserve me— _not _beautiful women. _Commander Cullen, satisfied that his orders were being fulfilled, trudged to the Chantry where Leliana and Josephine were waiting.

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn brushed Falon's brunet coat, stripping it of the travel dust and brambles. She knew she could have given him to the stable hand, but she was hardly ready to face the war council for a debriefing. Not just yet. Leaning against the sturdy stallion, she closed her eyes and just _breathed._ It was good to be back. Even if she was still a suspect to some, and though others thought her some long awaited sign from the Maker, at least for that moment she could just _be._

She hadn't had a moment to herself since she had been captured after stepping out of the Fade. Frustration tinged her emotions as she struggled to remember the events leading up to the Conclave. _Everything is gone—_she pounded her fist on the stable railing. _Why can't I remember?_ But it was futile…her shoulders slumped and she released a jagged breath. _Perhaps I'll never know…_

A few short minutes later, she heard the commotion at the gates from the horses and wagons and heaved a sigh. _Time to face the music…_. "Goodbye, friend," she murmured to the Forder and then gracefully slipped from the stables.

Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen were already waiting for her when she entered the war room, all three of them gathered around the table and discussing—bickering over, actually—some important matters.

"Ah, my lady Herald, it is good you have arrived, and just in time," Josephine greeted, her relief evident in the heavy lilt of her tongue. "Please, have a look."

"And welcome back," Leliana added with a secret smile; and once again, Cullen felt his face flush.

The abashed Commander cleared his throat, making a mental memo to find another nervous habit, at least for in front of the Herald, "We're discussing how to approach Val Royeaux."

Aislynn nodded, "So Mother Giselle made it in safely after all?"

"Yes, Herald," Josephine said, "and suggested that we meet with her contacts in the Chantry to appeal to them."

The elf crossed her arms, "Have we contacted them yet?"

"No," the spymaster intervened. "The Chantry mothers in Val Royeaux are convinced that the Inquisition is heretical and are defying it openly—more accurately, denouncing _you_. We had hopes of you meeting with them and speaking with them peacefully, perhaps to sway them into our favor."

"And," Cullen sighed, "I disagree." His eyes took on a dangerously dark look as he explained, "We'd be sending the Herald into the lion's den. With the Chantry openly defying the Inquisition—and not just the Inquisition, but _her_ specifically—it would be folly to expose her to their public outrage." Pounding a gloved fist on the table for effect, he insisted, "What will we gain by needlessly endangering her life?"

Aislynn's eyes widened at his vehemence. She agreed with him, certainly, but hadn't expected him to react with such force.

"But the actual _Herald of Andraste—_they need the figurehead to show herself and stand for the Inquisition. It is her presence that should rally them."

"She'll be walking straight into a trap—"

"You can't know that for sure—"

"As a strategist _and_ a soldier, I_ do_ know it's extremely likely—"

Aislynn cleared her throat loudly and tapped on the piece representing what she assumed was herself atop Val Royeaux on the map, "I can understand what you're saying, Josephine and Leliana, but I agree with the Commander; it may be a trap." The man relaxed visibly at her words. "However…" she sighed, "I cannot in good conscience send anyone else to negotiate with them in my stead if indeed it _is_ a trap."

Cullen's brows furrowed, "My lady, be that as it may, there may be other options."

Her eyes met his and her smile was soft when she answered, "Tell me that you would do otherwise in my position."

A long sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head in defeat. Another moment passed before he admitted, not able to meet her gaze, "I can't."

Aislynn crossed her arms, her shoulders hunched forward. She looked as vulnerable as she felt when she admitted, "I'm not thrilled about this, Cullen, but what choice do I have?"

The man's eyes snapped up when she said his name. It was the first time he had ever heard her say it and the gentle lilt in her voice surprised him. Moving a hand to his scabbard to distract his hands from risking another tell-tale sign of his disconcertion, the Commander conceded, "If that is what you wish, then that is what we shall do."

More than delighted, the Antivan ambassador smiled, "I shall send word immediately to the Chantry Mothers. Give me a few days to coordinate the event and you should be on your way to Val Royeaux by the end of next week." In a flurry of ruffled hair and skirts, she was out the door of the war room and gone before another word could be said.

Cullen excused himself with the pretext of a tremendous amount of paperwork and refugees to attend to, nodding to Aislynn courteously as he strode away. The elf watched him go, watched the pride and purpose in his steps, and wished she held half as much confidence as he seemed to exude. _Except, of course, when caught staring… _and her eyes twinkled with mischief at the thought.

The spymaster stepped around the table and joined Aislynn on the other side. She smiled kindly, "What word we have received in regards to your expedition to the Hinterlands has all been positive. I was hoping to speak with you about it, actually."

"Of course," Aislynn nodded as they continued to leave the Chantry together.

The hooded woman was silent for some time, continuing together until they were on the outskirts of the town. The sun had already set and the moon was still swinging lazily in the lower part of the eastern sky. The light of dusk still hung about the shoulders of the horizon, still barring the faint twinkling of the stars. It would have been a lovely night for a walk had Aislynn not had gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach as she strolled beside the stoic Leliana.

They rounded the corner, turning away from Haven, when Leliana finally spoke again. "You did well in the Hinterlands, Aislynn," the spymaster's smile did not quite reach her eyes. "Perhaps you would be kind enough to write the full report for me."

Aislynn nodded, "I'd be glad to…" she eyed the woman suspiciously, "But I don't suppose that's the only reason why you wanted to speak with me?"

The spymaster watched the elf carefully before mentioning, "It is my distinct duty to…notice things…among those with whom we associate." Her icy blue eyes seemed to stare straight through the elf and Aislynn was hard pressed to meet her pointed gaze. Another moment passed and Leliana spoke, "Be careful with those who follow you, Herald. You will have to treat some more...delicately than others."

"What do you mean?" Aislynn's eye's narrowed in suspicion.

"Understand that everything I do, I do for the good of the Inquisition." The spymaster crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I once believed that I was called by the Maker to a great purpose…" the admission was uttered softly, but her voice grew cold as steel as she continued, "He does not often repay in kind the service given to Him. I would hate to see, not only your faith diminished, but the faith of those who follow you."

Aislynn stopped her, "You speak in riddles, Sister Leliana." A sudden ferocity claimed her and, matching the icy tone in the woman's voice, the elf continued, "I _do_ believe in the Maker. I _do_ believe in a divine purpose. And if I am or if I am not the Herald of Andraste—that I cannot tell you, for I do not know—but I do believe that I have a purpose, just as much as anyone of this Inquisition does." She stepped dangerously close, staring up into the woman's eyes, "As far as those who put their faith in me…or their friendship…" her voice lowered until it was barely above a whisper, "I am _not_ the Maker…and I do _not_ give up so easily on those I care for."

Rather than becoming offended by the challenge in Aislynn's voice, Leliana allowed the slightest of smiles to ghost across her lips, "Good." She turned to walk away, glancing back only briefly to say, "Goodnight, Herald," before disappearing into the shadows of the village.

_**~oOo~**_

"Burning the midnight oil, Commander?" Leliana's voice rose from a dark corner of his office. Startled, he leapt to his feet, knocking back the stool on which he had been sitting.

"Maker's breath, Leliana," he gasped, nervously raking his hand through his blond hair. "You can't keep doing that to me, or you'll have to find a new Commander—one impervious to heart attacks." He took a steadying breath, taking a moment to let the beating of his heart slow to something reasonable again. "Now, what is it you needed?"

Her smile was mysterious as she approached his makeshift desk. "I came to apologize for the scene we made today at the war table."

The Commander sighed and waved his hand dismissively, "You are both professionals in your own right. I know better than to question your expertise."

She stopped directly before him and crossed her arms, "You are protecting her, Commander. I understand that now. Thinking back, we did put her in quite a…precarious position, no?" Her eyes scanned his for some sort of sign. Cullen carefully avoided the Nightingale's eyes.

"Again, Leliana—your area of expertise."

"No other opinions from the Commander of the Inquisition's forces?"

_Andraste's flaming sword, I can't get a moment's peace today, can I? _Cullen sighed and forced himself to look her in the eyes, "I trust your judgment, but I fear for her life. She's only just been discovered as the Herald of Andraste, and that mark on her hand has got to be a traumatic enough experience without her being cast directly to the wolves. And while I do not doubt her prowess in battle, I still fear for her safety, but mostly for herself—as a person. _That _is my opinion." He rubbed the back of his neck, as he so often did when under duress. "Now…if there's nothing else, I have… much to do," he finished weakly, pretending to be interested in the reports lying on his table.

Leliana smiled devilishly, "Not at all, Commander. You've told me everything I needed to know." And with that, she was gone.

Once assured that the spymaster was truly departed, Cullen heaved a sigh of resignation and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Why do I feel as though I've just said something _incredibly_ stupid?"


	8. Sparring

_I can't believe it - 1000 views! None of this would be possible without you all, my dear readers and fellow Dragon Age fans. You're amazing. Thank you for all the reviews and the follows/favorites. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Keeper Deshanna paced the confines of her aravel, fists clenched around her great wooden staff. Her silver hair fell around her face where it had come loose from her tight bun she typically wore. In her agitation, she hadn't thought to weave them back into place. The vallaslin, or blood writing, on her face seemed dark against the pale of her skin—insipid with worry. _How long has it been? A month? _Her wizened face wrinkled as she furrowed her brows, _I sent her to her death…I did this to her. And now…_ her pacing was interrupted by the entrance of a young hunter. He bowed to his Keeper courteously before speaking.

"Keeper, I have news." He waited for her nod of approval before continuing. "Our scouts have not yet seen _her, _but we have confirmed word that the survivor of the Conclave was, indeed, Dalish, matching her description. The last word we received is that they are using her in the Hinterlands to seal the tears in the sky." His face hardened. "We have located the shemlen base where she is being kept," and he stepped forward boldly. "I would like to seek this place out, Keeper. I…I need to know…" his eyes conveyed the emotion that he would not utter aloud.

Deshanna breathed deeply before speaking, "Ma serannas, Aiden, for your report."

The pleading in his eyes intensified, "Keeper?"

"You may go, but _not_ alone," her dark eyes flashed. "You will be stronger in numbers and we cannot bear to lose any more people to this monstrous shemlen war."

"Thank you, Keeper. I will take Jorin and Senna. We will leave at dawn," he bowed once more and slipped quickly from the tent.

The Keeper watched the young hunter go and a swell of hope filled her. The knot in her stomach, the guilt in her soul, eased as she prayed, _Creators, please…let this hope be justified…_

_Let her live…_

_**~oOo~**_

The early light of predawn lit the sky above Haven and a glimmer of the moon still hung feebly in the western sky when one solitary figure rose from her quarters and sneaked out of the village proper. Bare feet padded along the well-worn path to the training grounds, vacant due to the early hours. The chilled air brushed across her cheeks and blew her hair in wisps across her face, but she patiently tucked the tendrils behind her pointed ears. Eventually, she reached the farthest end of the field where a few training dummies stood. Her lips curved into an amused grin at the shoddy shape of the mannequins, mutilated from hours and hours of training carved into them.

Aislynn unsheathed her double daggers and held them at the ready. In her mind, she envisioned the Fade demons standing before her rather than the straw and burlap dummies. Pacing around them carefully, the elf measured her steps, remembering her footwork.

_I am shadow._

Stealthy steps made hardly any noise on the grassy field as she circled her prey.

_I am steel._

Her eyes shone like diamonds in the dark: predatory and calculated.

_I am death!_

The attack was swift, silent—lethal—her movements a blur. With a deliberate ferocity, she attacked the training mannequins, flitting effortlessly from one to another in a flurry of twirling hair and glinting metal. The movement was familiar and almost comforting in its proficiency. Her smile was fierce as she stepped away to inspect what was left of the training dummies.

_I am the harbinger of fate…_

_**~oOo~**_

Another long night followed by another early morning. The Commander rubbed his temples, trying to bring himself into wakefulness. _The nightmares are worse…_ he sighed, pulling on his clothes and armor. It was always futile to attempt sleep after such an episode. The dreams always came back—and with a vengeance. Better to begin the day than suffer through another round.

As he stepped from his quarters and onto the village road, he paused as he spied a movement at the gates. Curious, he followed, careful to remain hidden. The figure was small and lithe and, for a moment, he suspected one of Leliana's spies, out for one of their rounds. But then the figure slipped through the gates and out of town. His brows furrowed in concern and he followed, easing his sword from its sheath.

His armor clinked, no more so than usual, but in the quiet of the morning it was deafening. _I'll have to keep a good distance in this blasted armor…_ he frowned, not wanting to lose sight of the target. The figure moved with a remarkable ease and swiftness down the path to the training field. Cullen squeezed through the gate and continued to follow them, keeping close to the wall of the village to avoid detection. The figure stopped at the training dummies and a wave of relief washed over him to know it was one of their own. _Not a spy, not an intruder…just…_

_Aislynn?_

Cullen smiled and decided to approach her, releasing his grip on his sword. He thought to call out to her so as not to startle her when she suddenly leapt at the mannequins. The Commander's jaw dropped at the intensity with which she fought. She twisted, somersaulted, spun, stabbed, slashed—seemingly a veritable force of nature. Cautiously, he moved closer, watching her expert, calculated movements, nimble footwork, and lithe form as she spun in between the training models.

He couldn't help but stare—her eyes glinting like the matching steel blades she bore, her cheeks flushed from her exertions, her smile feral in the rush of adrenaline—she was the epitome of danger and death, and it intrigued him. A few minutes passed and a mischievous thought crossed his mind.

Aislynn was oblivious to her audience, that is, until one moment she spun and her blades clashed against something solid—and metal. The elf staggered backwards, her heart leaping in her chest in fright.

"C-commander Cullen," she panted, "I…I didn't expect," she gasped for breath, "I didn't expect to see you here."

His smile broadened. He had never seen her flustered before and he planned to relish every second of it, "Good morning, my lady," he twirled his sword in his hand. "You're quite impressive," he motioned to the tattered models. "I think they're quite dead, now."

She flushed and coughed in embarrassment at being caught, her smile sheepish, "I suppose I _was_ a bit harsh…"

Cullen flashed the girl an amused grin and approached the set of dummies. He tapped one with his sword and it teetered on its stump for a moment before crashing to the ground, completely unusable. The Commander's eyes widened and he laughed, increasingly aware of Aislynn's growing mortification.

"I don't think you should practice with dummies anymore, my lady," he teased.

Her eyes met his and she couldn't hide the wonder she felt. Aislynn had never before seen him smile that way—carefree and _happy_—and had never heard his laugh. There was something to be said for amusing the stoic, imposing Commander of the Inquisition. Slowly, she felt her discomfiture evolve into a tiny spec of satisfaction and she flashed a saucy smile back at him.

"Such slapdash equipment you have, Commander. You should be ashamed."

His lopsided, easy grin returned and he raised his sword to her, "Care to spar, Herald?"

Aislynn frowned, crossing her arms, "On one condition."

He raised an inquisitive brow, "Yes?"

"Call me Aislynn."

"Then," he corrected himself, "would you care to spar,_ Aislynn?_"

Her grin was devilish when she spun her blades in her hands, "Have a mind, Cullen, you may just live to regret this…"

"Try me," he challenged, amiably.

And the dance began…

_**~oOo~**_

"_Chapter 12 of __Swords & Shields__—Special Edition (Completely unrelated to previous chapters)_

_They fought as though they danced._

_Their hearts kept rhythm as their bodies wove in and out of their dangerous routine. The Warrior's sword arcing to meet the Rogue's twin daggers, the Rogue's elegant pirouette as she stymied his advance, the Warrior's powerful retaliating thrust, the Rogue's calculated deflection—they were partners in a lethal dance on an open stage with unspoken steps. She whirled away; he chased. He drew back; she advanced. Oh, the exultation in her eyes when she pressed her advantage—and his smile when she was deceived by his withdrawal. Sparks flew, but not only from their swords; hearts raced, not simply from the heat of a deadly encounter._

_They were lovers on the field of battle—"_

"Scout Danin," Cullen's low voice interrupted the tale abruptly, sending all the listening recruits into a flurry as they moved to quickly stand at attention at his unexpected arrival. The guilty scout was trembling underneath the Commander's heated glare.

"Y-yes, Commander?" the boy stuttered, his hand holding the parchment shaking uncontrollably.

Cullen snatched the parchment out of his hand and read the first few lines, his glare transforming into something much deadlier, "Where did you get this?"

"M-m-master Varric Tethras, Commander." By now, the boy's voice had all but escaped him and his words wheezed out pitifully. "He was passing them out around the camp."

Crumpling up the parchment, the Commander snarled, "Get back to work, all of you!"

The men scattered, tripping over themselves in their hurry to get away from the angry, daunting man.

_Maker's breath, when I find that blasted dwarf, I swear I'm going to kill him, _Cullen thought as he stalked through the rest of field, snatching up loose copies of the story as he went.

_**~oOo~**_

Alone by the steps of the Chantry, Aislynn was finishing the last few paragraphs of her report on the Hinterlands when a commotion in the village caught her attention. Her brows furrowed at the disturbance and she almost ignored it until she heard raised voices—both of which she recognized. Suddenly, Varric came dashing across the path before her, knocking over her ink. She gasped, moving to avoid the splashes. Angry eyes turned to him,

"Varric—what do you—"

"Can't talk now, Ace," he shouted as he darted past, panting heavily. "Long story!"

She sighed in frustration at his retreating figure and had just put her report down to rescue her spilled ink when none other than Cullen rounded the corner as well. He stopped in front of her, the expression on his face severe enough to kill.

"Where did he go?"

Eyes wide, she pointed silently in the dwarf's direction. He mumbled a quick word of thanks before dashing across the yard, "Varric! You can't hide forever, blast it!"

A crumpled ball of parchment fell from the Commander's grasp as he chased the dwarf and Aislynn, ever so cautiously, picked it up.

She read through the first few lines before understanding dawned on her and she could not stop the bubble of laughter from escaping her lips. Aislynn was _still_ laughing, several minutes later, when she turned in her finished report to the spymaster.

Leliana watched the Herald go with a concerned expression on her face. She turned and exited the Chantry through a back door when she suddenly spied something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Is that…Varric? Being chased by…" she tried unsuccessfully to hide the smile that started on her lips, "Oh my…"

_**~oOo~**_

Aiden waited till the sun had set and the night was at its darkest to enter the city. He and his fellow hunters had kept a safe distance, watching for the Inquisition's spies and guards, making careful note of their rotations. At night, the guard switched, but the watchmen were few, and most of them lax. It was an easy task then, to slip unseen over the wall and into the heart of the village. Once safely inside, Aiden pulled the others into a huddle,

"We'll split up. Less chance of being discovered if we separate now." His blue eyes reflected an intensity that his hushed whisper could not convey, "If you find her, get her _out._ We'll meet up in an hour at the forest's edge."

Senna and Jorin nodded in agreement and the elves disbanded, skittering from shadow to shadow, blending into the cover of darkness.

Aiden pressed close to the side of a wooden hovel, listening for footsteps. Once assured he was alone, he crept around the building, peering through the window. The family within slept peacefully and he frowned, _Not here…_

The elfin hunter checked every house and found himself disappointed each time. He stared in disgust at the small village, _Where would they keep her? _He moved to another building, only a little taller than the others. He peered into the first floor window and his scowl deepened, hoping the others had better luck. The aching in the pit of his stomach constantly worried him that just maybe they had all been wrong. Perhaps the hope they felt was unfounded. Perhaps she _had_ died on that mountain…

_No,_ he screamed inwardly at himself, _she cannot be dead…_

Gingerly, he hoisted himself onto the bower above the lower window and glanced into the second story window. At first, he saw nothing and was about to leave when he heard footsteps below him. Quickly, he leapt inside and hid around the corner, holding his breath as the guard below passed by.

_That was close…_ he heaved a small sigh of relief before coming face to face with a pair of beautiful green eyes and he felt his heart stop.

"Aislynn?"

Those same eyes stared at him in wonder and recognition and her breathless voice answered,

"_Aiden_!"


	9. The Offer

_So many favorites and follows - you all continue to amaze me by following this story. I say this every time, it feels like, but it's true: you are what keeps this story going. And special thanks, again, to Fates-Love-Queen for the review and also to Wildfire99. Thanks for making this feel so worth it! This chapter did not want to be written, but here it is. ;) Pesky thing. It's not as amusing as the last chapter, but it will tie in later on in the story. Thanks again - you're all s'wonderful, s'marvelous!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Without another word, Aislynn leapt across the floor and threw herself into the hunter's arms.

"Aiden, it's so good to see you!"

He held her tightly, a smile spreading across his lips, "I knew you couldn't be dead. They all told me you were, but I just…I knew." He pulled back and looked her over, "_Da'len_, I've missed you."

Tears moistened her eyes and she smiled at his familiar endearment, "I missed you too. But you can hardly keep calling me 'little one,' Aiden."

"You can't stop me," he insisted, warmly, pulling her back into an embrace. "We were all so worried about you. Are you all right?"

She nodded, letting him hold her for a while before pulling back to look into his eyes, "I'm well—but…what are you doing here?" Gently, she led him farther inside, motioning for him to sit.

Aiden regarded her carefully, "You…never came back after the Conclave. At first, we thought you had died, for reports came back that the entire area had been overcome. And then…rumors began…" his blue eyes sought hers for confirmation, "about a hero healing the sky and securing the Hinterlands. Naturally, we looked into it and found that the description of this hero matched one of our own." He scooted closer to her in his chair and took her hands, "We thought the humans captured you and were using you to seal the skies…" His gaze intense, he asked, "Why didn't you come back?"

Aislynn blinked back the confusion in her eyes and she averted her gaze, her mind reeling. After a moment, she whispered, "I don't remember…" she buried her face in her hands. "I woke up in the Fade…and I ran for my life and ended up back in the heart of the explosion. I don't remember what happened, or why. I…" she felt tears streaming down her face, "I didn't know I was supposed to come back, or that you thought I was dead…Everything happened so quickly. Much of my memory of that time is…gone. The explosion—or something that happened prior—must be responsible for that…"

Reaching out, he took her in his arms again, "Don't cry, Da'len. You're safe now; I'm here."

"Keeper Deshanna…"

"Is worried sick about you. She blames herself." Gently stroking her hair, he whispered, "Everything is going to be all right."

Aislynn let herself be coddled for a few minutes, finding security in his strong arms. It had been too long since she had seen him. After a while, she drew back and sighed, "Aiden…why was I at the Conclave? What happened? I don't remember anything."

His eyes searched hers and he was silent for a moment before answering her, "Keeper Deshanna sent you to spy on the Conclave. With the fighting encroaching on our lands, driving us back, she wanted someone to give us word on the peace talks. You _insisted_ on going, as you always do," his lips upturned in a slight smile, "and you planned from there to turn to Denerim and seek out Karia. You agreed to return within two weeks time…" and a pained expression took over his face, "It's been a month, Aislynn…"

Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest and she feared the young man beside her could hear it as well. Rubbing her temples, she willed herself to remember more. _Why did the Conclave end so horribly? Who caused the explosion? What have I done? _Taking a few long, deep breaths, the elfin lass attempted to calm her frayed nerves. She thanked Aiden quietly before covering her face in her hands. _Why can't I remember?!_

The elfin hunter stood, "Will you come with me?"

"What?" she peeked at him through her fingers.

"Come home with me, da'len," he pleaded. "You'll be safe there."

She shook her head, "I…I can't, Aiden," her green eyes met his in a silent plea, "They need me here." She stood with him and met his gaze solidly, "I have something to show you."

"Anything," he said, almost too quickly.

Gingerly, she pulled the gauntlet off of her left hand, deliberately and slowly. "The rumors are true…the 'hero,' did you say, has been 'healing' the sky…" she clenched her hand in a fist quickly and gave him a pointed gaze before revealing the palm of her hand to him, "…with this."

A green light lit up the room and Aiden took a few steps back, startled. His eyes met hers in fear and he hissed, "What is that?"

She quickly pulled the gauntlet back over her hand and sighed, "I don't know. I awoke with it after stepping out of the fade."

"So…the rumors are true…you _can _seal the sky?"

Her smile was distant when she answered, "Yes. I can."

Aiden's sigh was one of resignation. He gazed at her for a long time before whispering, "Is this what you want?"

The look in her eyes gave him no doubt, "Yes, Aiden…I can help them. I _want_ to help them. Not just them—our clan by extension. This…" she grasped his hands, "…is the best way for me to do that."

The elf pulled the girl into a tight embrace, "You're my baby sister…you're the only family I have, Aislynn," he murmured. "I love you."

"I love you too," the tears rolled down her cheeks again.

"And if anything happened to you…"

She pulled back to gaze directly into his eyes, "Nothing is going to happen to me."

"No, it won't," he agreed, "because I won't let it."

Backing away, the elfin lass crossed her arms, "I'm not leaving, Aiden."

"Obviously," he snorted. "I know you better than that, da'len. I know you won't leave. I saw it in your eyes."

"Then what…"

"_I'm_ staying," he said confidently. "If anything happened to you, especially after thinking that you've died, finding out you hadn't, and finding you here—a _hero_—what kind of an idiot brother would I be if I left you again?" He stood and made his way to the window. "I'll send word to the Keeper of my decision with Jorin and Senna first thing tomorrow. In the meantime," he crawled outside into the night, "sleep well, Aislynn. I'll see you in the morning." With a wink, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Aislynn staring after him, completely flummoxed.

_**~oOo~**_

Dawn came serenely to the town of Haven. With tender caresses, the sun stretched her golden fingers across the town and into the open hovel windows. One such ray crept stealthily across the wooden floor of a second story window, over the dresser, and onto the upturned face of a sleeping elf. She squeezed her eyes tightly in her sleep and ducked her head under the warm covers. As the rays intensified, the little elf found she could no longer ignore its advances. Stretching languidly, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle, idly. Now mostly awake, she stretched again when a sudden, _thunderous _knock on her door made her squeal in surprise and tumble onto the hardwood floor.

"Herald?" came the muffled voice of one of the recruits from the other side of the door.

She gasped for air, trying to calm her frayed nerves, "Y-yes?"

"Your presence is being requested immediately at the front gates. Commander Cullen said it's extremely urgent."

Aislynn rubbed her face, more than a little peeved, "Let him know I'll be right there."

"Of course, Herald," and the retreating sounds of heavy boots indicated that he was gone.

The elf girl collapsed in a heap on the floor, covering her face with her hands. _Why is that blasted man always up so early?_

_**~oOo~**_

Dressed and in her leather armor, she hurried down to the gates of the city where she could already hear a heated argument in progress. Aislynn shoved between the crowd of soldiers and villagers that had gathered, immensely curious now as to what had caused such a commotion. Breaking through the barrier of bodies, her eyes wandered to the imposing figure of the Commander, his arms crossed and his gaze incredulous. He waved her over when he saw her.

"Good morning, Herald," he nodded an acknowledgment, "This man says he knows you. We caught him trying to sneak in."

The man in question was, of course, Aiden, his brown hair tousled and his blue eyes glaring at Commander Cullen, "Of course she knows me; that's what I've been telling you all this time."

"Herald?" the Commander's voice addressed her again, awaiting her response.

She rubbed her temples, "Yes, Commander Cullen; that is my brother…"

"I told you," the hunter grinned smugly. "And she called you Commander. You're the sorry slob in charge of the guards around here?"

Cullen was in no mood to be baited, but he answered, "Yes…"

"They're a bunch of rubbish," Aiden informed him with a sneer. "Three of us broke in here last night without even a second thought. If my sister is going to be wandering around Thedas, the least you could do is provide her with better protection—"

"Aiden!" she snapped, "Commander Cullen is one of the best minds in war and strategy. If we're a little understaffed, I assure you, it is of no fault of his." She turned apologetically to Cullen before moving to stand beside her brother."Now if you're both quite through…Commander, this is my brother Aiden Lavellan. He…_mentioned_ that he would like to join the Inquisition."

"Someone," he shot the tall man a challenging glare, "has to keep her safe."

It was all Cullen could do not to engage in another battle of words. Instead of retaliating, more for Aislynn's sake than anything, he nodded politely to Aiden, "Pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the inconvenience," and then he couldn't resist, "but with her safety on the line, we just couldn't take any chances." And this time, it was Aiden's turn to fume.

Aislynn glared at Cullen for a change, but chose not to escalate the argument between the two men any further. If she gave Aiden an inch, he'd take a mile and she did not want to do that to the Commander. The elfin lass pulled her brother away from the gates before turning to him and glaring at him, "Why are you still here?"

"I told you last night," he said earnestly, "I'm staying—I _have_ to."

She shook her head, "You can't always protect me, Aiden…"

He grasped her by the shoulders, "I _know_, Aislynn. I failed once at the Conclave, letting you go alone. I had to mourn your death for a _whole month_ before finding you alive, _here._ I _can't_ lose you again. I _won't_ abandon you." The ferocity in his eyes made her tremble.

"Aiden…"

"No, da'len…" he shook his head, "I can't always protect you, but I have a second chance to _try._ Don't you see? I have to _try._"

She broke from his grasp and threw her arms around his waist, "I understand…but this isn't the best way to do it."

His glare pierced her heart, "What are you saying?"

"Go back home," she pleaded. "You are the best hunter that Keeper Deshanna has. She needs you to look out for the people there. You and Jorin and Senna." She crossed her arms, "If you leave them, what will they do? Who will they turn to?"

"Jorin and Senna are more than capable—"

"—of getting killed," she finished, mercilessly. "I'm well protected here. Commander Cullen hardly sleeps, he works so much. And Leliana and her spies, and Josephine and her…well…her nobles." Aislynn's plea seemed to soften him. "I can't be both places—I need someone at home watching out for our clan."

Aiden's blue eyes misted, "What if…"

"No 'what ifs,'" she shook her head. "We don't have that luxury anymore. Please, Aiden. Until we can close the breach—and we're working on forging an alliance with people that can help—I need you to be my eyes and ears…at _home._"

He frowned, clearly unhappy with the plan, but seeing her reason. "There has to be more that I can do…"

"Staying alive, keeping our people safe: that is enough for me," she insisted, cupping his cheek in her hand.

Aiden knew he had lost the argument; he knew even before they began. Taking a deep breath, he responded, "I will go home. But I want to see for myself how things are going…here. First. Jorin and Senna can go ahead and let the Keeper know of my intentions."

"Thank you," she whispered, her smile genuine.

Aiden was far from pleased with her persuasiveness. He fully intended to allow her to think she had won while hanging back and continuing to spy from a distance, or _something. _Anything to be near her and ensure she would be all right. Having his heart torn out and shattered into a million pieces with the loss of the only surviving member of his family and then having the great shock of finding it all to be completely untrue was too much for him. He wasn't going to allow her the second chance to die on him. Not if he had anything to do about it.

He watched Aislynn as she accompanied a tall, fierce looking woman named Cassandra and he crossed his arms, still mulling over what sort of disguise he'd have to take on once he'd "left," when a low, feminine voice interrupted him.

"You are Aiden Lavellan?"

He whirled to face the speaker and his heart nearly stopped beating when he saw her.

She was the epitome of beauty—soft pale skin, piercing blue eyes, and hair as red as flames. Aiden swallowed once before responding to her, "I am, m'lady."

Her smile melted his barriers and she spoke again, her Orlesian accent captivating him completely, "My name is Leliana. I am the spymaster of the Inquisition. I heard that you intended to join."

The young man nodded, "That is true, I did intend." Then he frowned, "That is, until Aislynn decided to send me packing _home._"

Her laugh was low but genuine as she continued, "Yes, I know. I heard the argument. And that is why I'm approaching you. I have a…proposition for you."

"Indeed?" Aiden tilted his head incredulously. "I'm listening."

"You say you were able to sneak in here without the notice of the guards. My spies were on watch last night as well and none of them claim to have seen you. Either they're all lying, or you and your clan are extremely talented," she stepped closer."I am proposing that you act as a liaison between the Inquisition and the Dalish—specifically Clan Lavellan. You will have unlimited information in regards to your sister and we will have the alliance necessary to keep the clan safe, as an extension of the Inquisition." She paused to let the offer sink in. "This offer will stand until tonight." She smiled at him one last time before turning away.

She did not look back.

She didn't need to.


	10. My Life Depends On It

_Happy Monday, everyone. I apologize for the unusual length of the story-it simply did not want to end. :) Thank you for the continued favorites/follows and to everyone taking the time to follow Aislynn's journey with me. I hope you all enjoy this chapter-reviews welcome!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Solas was standing alone, watching the Breach, his eyes narrowed in deep thought when a cheery voice interrupted his musing, "Good morning. Do you have a moment?"

Aislynn sauntered towards him, smiling, and he found he did not quite have the willpower to tell her no. Instead, he returned her smile, albeit guardedly, "Of course."

She stood beside him for a moment, watching the Breach, and her cheerfulness seemed to dissipate. The massive tear in the sky swirled with an otherworldly light that was both beautiful and terrifying. After a moment, she spoke again, concern replacing the jollity she held previously. "They call you the Fade Walker…what can you tell me about it—the Fade, I mean?"

"What do you wish to know?"

Her gaze was steady but the look in her eyes betrayed her unease, "Everything."

The elf snorted in disbelief, "Forgive me; I do not truly wish to offend, but it occurs to me, as Herald, you don't have time to sit and listen to me lecture for hours about the Fade. What _truly_ worries you?"

She flashed him a lopsided smile, "Right as always…" and she breathed deeply before asking, "Do I have a chance? Sealing it, that is?"

"A chance, lethallan?"

Her expression remained carefully guarded as she specified, "Is it going to kill me? Closing the Breach?"

Solas turned to face her directly. The fear in her eyes was coupled with a steely glint, as though she already knew the answer. For a few moments, he was silent, lost in thought. There were so many improbabilities in regards to the Fade. It seemed almost boundless; and the power it would take to seal it was not exactly power of her own, though she would be used as an appropriate conduit. At last, he nodded, "Perhaps. Perhaps it _will_ kill you," and then his lips quirked, "then again perhaps not."

She narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean?"

He motioned for her to follow him and he led her to the path just outside of Haven where the view to the Breach was unhindered by rooftops, "The explosion at the Conclave should have killed you, as it did for everyone else, yet you entered the Fade—something no mortal should be able to do. You lived. You left the Fade with a mark on your hand, harnessing an ancient elven power in your hand. An ordinary person, perhaps, would die. You, however…" and his smile broadened slightly, "…are not an ordinary person."

She flushed from his compliment, though a smile never reached her lips. "Thank you, though I suppose that still leaves me with a fifty-fifty percent chance, hm?"

"In the end, that's all we have, though we're all a part of the ultimate statistic and eventually one hundred percent of us will die," his gaze fell on her again, evaluating her reaction with a gleam of humor in his eyes.

She laughed softly at his humor unaware that his gaze lingered on her far longer than he intended. Eventually, she turned to him and flushed when she caught him staring.

"I…I think I should go, but…thank you," she smiled briefly before turning on her heel, more abruptly than she'd meant to, and leaving.

He watched her go, unable to quite shake the strange emotion that overtook him.

_**~oOo~**_

"Tell me more about your offer, m'lady," Aiden approached Leliana cautiously, seating himself across from her in her field tent. "I'm interested."

The spymaster smiled at him. She knew he would be interested, and she also knew she couldn't miss the opportunity to recruit more proficient spies, such as him. Leliana also knew how much more valuable his service would be since his loyalties were made of stronger ties than most. His efforts would be more precise, more detailed, because the life of a loved one was in the balance. Some might think her motivations cruel, but she found them _effective_.

"I'm glad you came. Simply put, Aiden, I'm asking you to be a spy for the Inquisition. As we have very few contacts in the Free Marches, your service could be invaluable."

"How?" his blunt question gave her pause. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful, because I do want this, but if I'm getting myself into what I assume is a very dangerous position," his blue eyes evaluated her for her response before continuing, "I want to know the details."

Her eyes met his from under her hood, "Astute…good to see I made the right call…" she motioned for him to follow her. They walked together into the war room where she revealed the expansive map on the large table. She pointed to several places on the northern region of the map, "We currently have petitions for aid in these places. Your clan is centralized to all of them, and quite honestly, I can't spare any more people so far north. As we get leads, we will send them to you to investigate. Once you have assessed the situation, you send word back to us and we will determine whether or not to send the Herald herself. Mainly, if there are rifts in the region that need to be sealed."

"What kind of situations would I be assessing?"

Leliana pointed to one particular place on the map, "For instance, we recently received word of a particular noble spreading some damaging rumors about the Inquisition—"

Aiden's brows furrowed, "You're not asking me to _dispose_ of him, are you?"

The spymaster's guarded smile returned, "No, but I would have you look into what motivation he would have for spreading them—perhaps he is controlled by an outside force? Or perhaps he has information we could use?" Leliana leaned her hip against the table, her stance casual, but her eyes discerning his response carefully, "Any information you could give us can be used. And…if it is a situation in which something needs to be…taken care of, we would be leaving the decision in your capable hands."

"You're putting quite a bit of trust in a complete stranger, m'lady," Aiden commented thoughtfully, "although I assume you have a lot to gain by my assistance."

_Ah, perceptive one, indeed. _Leliana did not hide her approval, "I do, actually. Your interest is as much invested in the Inquisition as Aislynn's. You have every reason to succeed—more so than most."

He nodded, deep in thought. This was the perfect opportunity, and while he knew Keeper Deshanna would disapprove, it still allowed him the flexibility to care for his clan and his sister contemporarily. He would be a fool to refuse it. Aiden's eyes sought out hers, still amazed at how lovely she was. _Figures…_ he thought ruefully, before extending his hand out to her.

"I agree to your terms. When do I begin?"

_**~oOo~**_

Halfway through Josephine's efforts to secure a meeting with the Chantry mothers in Val Royeaux, Cassandra summoned the war council to discuss another matter entirely. The Seeker's dark gaze pierced into the eyes of those around the war table unbridled. Her tension was palpable. Beside her, Aislynn was sure she could _feel_ the anger emanating from the woman's very being. The Seeker could barely contain herself and burst out with her news the moment that Commander Cullen, the last to arrive, entered the room.

"The Herald has been challenged by the Chieftain of the Avvar's son," her accent was thick in her rage. "They have taken some of our soldiers captive and will kill them unless she agrees."

Leliana sighed, "This, I can attest to. We just received word of the capture today." She leaned forward, placing her hands on the edge of the war table. "Our hope was to be able to solve this diplomatically, but…"

"But the Avvar are not diplomatic people," Josephine finished for her friend. "They are tribal and…extremely uncivilized."

"So, what—" Cullen crossed his arms, the plate metal of his armor clinking with the movement, "—we're just going to let her go fight a vulgar chieftain's son? Leliana, is there no other way to extricate the soldiers without sending the Herald in to fight this cretin?"

The Nightingale glared at him, "And risk their deaths?"

"If there is a way to get them out without endangering the Herald—"

"Then I'd have done it," her voice rose to a dangerous new level. The Commander, however, did not seem cowed.

"Either way, someone's life is at stake," he growled, "I would hope, at least, to take more precautions for the one life capable of closing the Breach."

The spymaster seemed appalled, "And your men are expendable?"

"Of course not," the Commander was genuinely affronted. "But there _has _to be an alternative to sending her into the heart of enemy territory."

Aislynn watched her advisors argue, her own frustrations leveling theirs. Cassandra's voice rose along with the others' and eventually, Aislynn could stand no more of it.

"Enough!" she shouted above their clamoring. Every eye in the room turned to the little elf at the edge of the table. Now that she had their attention, she felt more than a little nervous. Bolstering her courage before she lost it—as running away would certainly seem extremely "_unHeraldy_"—Aislynn leaned slightly over table to view it. "Leliana, Cassandra—where are the men being held?"

"The Fallow Mire," answered the spymaster with more distaste than she had planned to reveal.

Seeker Cassandra's face distorted in fury, "They're being kept in the ruins where the Avvar are currently dwelling."

Turning to the Ambassador, Aislynn continued, "Tell me about them, Josephine. "

"They were one of the tribes of the Alamarri, but—"

Aislynn shook her head, "Tell me about who they are _now, _not what they were." She sighed, "I need to understand them."

Josephine nodded and continued, "Permanence is a foreign concept to the Avvars. Nothing in the Frostbacks stays the same forever, and nothing in Avvar life is permanent either. Avvar settlements are temporary; their agreements are temporary; even their marriages are temporary." The Ambassador set her board down on the table and faced Aislynn directly, "The Avvar tribes are also a group of warriors. As change is a big factor in their culture, much depends on skill and brutality in order to keep the status quo for their tribes. I assume the chieftain's son is trying to assert his dominance over other tribes by taking on the most powerful…figure, if you will…in the region. That figure being you, my lady Herald."

The elf considered Josephine's words carefully before turning to Cullen, "Commander, how many men were in the patrol that was captured?"

"Ten, my lady," he answered. "Most of them battle hardened soldiers. They must have been severely outnumbered to be captured thusly." His voice was low with raw anger.

She shot him a cautioning glare and he took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck—then stopping as quickly as he started, forcing his hand to hold the pommel of his sword, instead. _No jerky movements; lives are at stake, _he quietly cleared his throat, awaiting her next question.

Aislynn considered the board, "What kind of territory is it, Commander?"

"Dangerous—and full of undead, as reported recently from Scout Harding."

"How many men do you think it will take to establish a temporary camp?"

"I'd send at least twenty, m'lady," he made a motion at the area. "It's a bog; we'd clearly be at a disadvantage and I would prefer to ensure we had enough men to bring the others safely back in the case of an ambush or retaliation from the tribe—or the undead. Or both."

Aislynn stared at the small marker on the Fallow Mire, her brows knitted in deep concentration. Not looking up from the map, she addressed Cullen one last time, "Commander?"

"Yes, my lady?" His brown eyes sought hers out, but they were resolutely focused on the board.

"I may need one last sparring lesson before we leave. If I'm going to be dueling a warring tribe's chieftain's son, I want to be prepared." She glanced up to see the worry creasing his forehead and grinned, "Not to worry, Commander, I'll replace those dummies on the training field when I get back."

He stepped around the table to confront her, "My lady, you cannot be seriously thinking about confronting him."

"Oh, I'm not thinking about it, Commander," she said saucily, though she could not quite hide the fear in her eyes, "I've already decided. He's challenging me—for the lives of our people. I'm going to go. It's my decision, because it's my life. I'll leave in the morning." Aislynn moved gracefully from the war room, calling out as she did, "Meet me in the training field in twenty minutes' time, please, Commander."

_My life depends on it…_

_**~oOo~**_

Naturally, the whole village came to watch.

Aislynn was garbed in her leather armor, her twin daggers sharpened and glinting in the sunlight. Her adrenaline was pumping, her heart pounding in her ears—she paced the field, trying to ease her anxiety. She heard the heavy thump of Cullen's boots as he approached behind her.

"Herald."

Taking a deep breath, she whirled to face him, attempting desperately to maintain the impish grin she wore, "We're sparring, Cullen. I thought we settled this already—that's not my name."

The Commander was _not_ to be baited—not this time. "My Lady Herald, do not toy with me now. Now about this. We have other options."

Aislynn stepped up to him until they were only breaths apart, chin tilted indomitably upwards in defiance and her eyes meeting his, bright with determination. "Commander, please. If you want me to have _any_ chance of returning, I need you to do this with me. And _don't_ go easy on me."

"Aislynn…"

"Please, Cullen. We can't risk any more lives. I can _do _this," she pleaded, "but not without your help. Please…"

The Commander drew his sword and growled, "We're not leaving this field till _I_ say you can go…recruit…" he flashed the elf a half-hearted lopsided smile, trying to diffuse the tension; and she sighed in relief.

"Shall we dance?" she raised her brow archly and he felt his face flush in spite of the situation.

"After you," he quipped.

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn tumbled forward, falling face first into the dirt for perhaps the hundredth time since they began.

"Get up," the Commander's voice called out mercilessly. "You're dead again."

The elf groaned and pushed herself back to her feet, swaying from exhaustion. Gripping her blades, she turned to face him, dirt smudged all over her clothes and face. Her auburn hair, which she had pulled back into a pony tail after the second time the Commander knocked her down and suggested that she get it "out of her peripherals," was tangled and loose strands were plastered to her sweat-beaded brow and cheeks. She panted heavily and moved into place.

"This time," he advised, "you let your guard down once you thought I was backing off. _Never_ assume that your enemy is tiring. _Never_ count on them wearing down," he admonished. "Now, try again."

She felt tempted to complain, tempted to beg him to go easier, tempted to beg him to stop, but she knew the moment she did that once she entered into the actual duel with the Avvar, she'd be dead. So, instead of griping, she faced him—once more time.

The sun was beginning to set in the western sky and most of the townspeople had dissipated except for a select few, mainly those soldiers who would be accompanying the Herald to the Fallow Mire and Solas, Varric, Cassandra, and the other two advisors. All had worried expressions on their faces, save the dwarf who had been scribbling on a parchment the moment the sparring began.

The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste circled each other. Aislynn admired his stance, his form, the confidence he exuded without even trying. Rubbing off more dirt and stray strands of hair from her face with the back of her hand, she felt as ragged as she knew she looked. Determination creased her brows as she glared back at him, steadying her steps, twirling her blades. She looked him fiercely in the eyes.

_Last round, Commander…_

At once, they charged each other. Steel against steel sent sparks flying in every direction. Their movements were swift and fierce, blurs in the fading light. He arced his sword forward but she did not parry. This time she evaded him, her lissome feet carrying her out of his reach, just around his back. But the Commander seemed to already know her plan. Just as she meant to strike, his sword clattered into one of hers, sending it flying out of her hand. Scowling, she leapt away, somersaulting backwards with impressive agility—especially after the numerous hours sparring. Just in time, she grabbed her missing dagger and leapt once more out of his reach. She relied heavily on her dexterity what she lacked in strength to compensate for her in regards to her opponent's superior skill. It was proving to be taxing, yet manageable.

Cullen's executions were flawless, which both awed the elf and frustrated her, and she prayed to the Creators that her upcoming adversary would not be as well versed. And Cullen was pitiless. When he saw an opening, he took it—and Aislynn knew she would have bruises from all the crashing and tumbling. Yet, each time, he would command her to get up and teach her what she did wrong.

She never made the same mistake twice.

Exhausted, aggravated, enraged—Aislynn pulled her emotions to the fore and charged at the Commander. He readied himself for her blow, but instead of meeting his sword, she hurdled underneath him, between his legs, twisting quickly to her feet behind him. Her sword was at his throat an instant later.

Panting, she heaved between breaths, "You're…dead…Commander…"

Cullen sheathed his sword and turned to face her, his handsome yet lopsided grin on his lips and relief awash on the rest of his features, "Well done…"

They walked slowly together towards the village just as the last of the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon.

Aislynn smiled when she saw the remaining onlookers clapping madly for them and their display. Varric, throwing down his quill and paper, raised both fists into the air and hooted,

"To Aislynn—the Master Commander!" followed by whistles and a cacophony of claps and cheers.

The little elf chuckled roguishly when, as she and Cullen neared, quite suddenly, the dwarf—and his parchment—were nowhere to be found.


	11. The Fallow Mire

_I am continually amazed by all of you. :) Thanks so very much for the influx of adds and reviews. They're __all greatly appreciated. And this chapter-let me tell you-did _not_ want to be written. Although, I've found the secret to writer's block and if Rockstar energy drink ever did a campaign, I'd probably lobby for them. ;) Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this next chapter in Aislynn's travels._

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

The Fallow Mire was hardly a destination, but rather a whole _region_. No sign post guided the traveler to its borders because no indication was necessary. The Mire could not be happened upon for it could be seen coming for miles—Maker knows they could _smell_ it. All manner of scavengers preyed upon these grounds and littered its skies, adding to the forsaken atmosphere it already presented. It was a desolate, uninhabitable wasteland of fens, ruins, and decay.

And then it began to rain.

The base camp was on the outskirts of the mire. The canvas tents flapped in the building wind as the storm overhead grew more severe. What soldiers were stationed there were frantically trying to secure their possessions, cover their makeshift armory, and rope the canvas tents more securely to the ground. In the midst of it all was Scout Harding. She spied the Herald and her companions and strode out to meet them.

"My lady Herald," the dwarven woman greeted her, saluting. "Thank you for coming. Hopefully you can solve this mess."

Acknowledging the scout with a nod, Aislynn inquired, "What's the situation?"

"Our missing patrols are being held hostage by Avvar, barbarians from the mountains."

The elf's nose scrunched in distaste, "So I was informed. But what are they doing in a bog?"

"That's the thing…" the scout's voice dropped, unease showing in her normally confidant posture, "Their leader…he…wants them to fight _you_ because you are the Herald of Andraste."

The situation wasn't humorous at all, but Aislynn muttered under her breath sarcastically, "Well…that's fame for you…"

Scout Harding allowed a small twitch of a smile to cross her lips before explaining, "The thing is, the Avvar people think that they are gods in nature. As in, the sky is a god and the forest… The Avvar say you are claiming to be _sent _by one and they'll challenge the will of _your_ god with their own." Her face turned hard as she sneered, "_I _think that their leader is a boastful little jerk who wants to brag that he killed you."

Crossing her arms, Aislynn deadpanned, "I knew I should have brought my lucky autograph pen. I could have at least signed my death certificate for him…"

"They think reading's for the weak—you know, scholars, lowlanders, Orlesian peasants…"

Aislynn, holding back the small chortle she felt, didn't have the heart to explain that it had been a joke; instead, she cleared her throat and listened intently as Scout Harding explained the situation further.

"Getting to our troops won't be easy. You'll have to fight your way through the undead…" and then her eyes narrowed, "Wait…you're not squeamish about undead are you?"

"Well," Aislynn took a deep breath, "they're not my favorite, but I'm hardly 'squeamish,' as you put it."

She didn't seem convinced, but continued, "The Avvar are holed up in the castle on the other side of the Fallow Mire." And then her eyes allowed a shimmer of hope as she said, "Maker willing, the Inquisition's people are still alive."

"Thank you, Scout Harding, "the elf nodded politely again, dismissing her, and moved to be near the rest of her companions.

"Undead, huh?" Varric crossed his arms, "Well, shit…"

Beside him, Solas grasped his staff and leaned on it, "The veil is thin here. I wouldn't be surprised if we found some stray rifts. We should be wary."

Aislynn pulled her cloak further over her shoulders and the hood farther down over her face, "I don't feel comfortable letting the men sit in those cells while we dawdle and try to wait out the rain." She glanced at Cassandra's eager face and finished, "If you are willing, I'd like to search for them tonight."

The Seeker's gaze was intense as she waited for the others to reply. Solas agreed without hesitation, but Varric…

"All right, all right…" he hefted Bianca over his shoulder, "But next time, Ace, _I_ get to pick where we're going. Blasted rain…" he muttered under his breath.

The elf girl smiled grimly, "Then let's go."

_**~oOo~**_

According to the maps, Aislynn had been charting a south westerly course through the bogs, doing her best to lead her companions on as firm a ground as possible. They had already encountered a few rifts, not only swarmed by demons, but undead as well. Scout Harding had been right—they had been combating their way through the bogs since they left the camp. Aislynn worried that the more encounters they faced the less of a chance she'd have to give her best in the duel that was to come. It frightened her, actually.

For now, though, the Mire was silent, save their panting breaths and booted feet upon the drenched earth. Aislynn could hear her heartbeat and she felt as though it might pound through her chest. It was deafening until—_splash!_—someone's booted foot kicked a stone into the bog. The group froze, eyes darting to the waters. They waited anxiously for a few breathless moments, eyes scanning their surroundings.

Just as they began to relax, a bubbling noise from the mire behind them brought them all whirling. Cassandra saw the danger first and called out a warning, "We're surrounded." She unsheathed her sword—again—and charged at the attacking undead. Aislynn shouted a battle cry of her own and leapt at the nearest corpse. Before it had a chance to raise its arm, she had struck and it collapsed. Varric and Solas guarded their flanks with stray undead that rose late from the water. Moments later, it was over.

Brushing the stray hair from her face, Aislynn kicked at the nearest dead body on the ground and continued towards the Avvar tower, moving at a quicker pace."The castle should be just ahead," she said through gritted teeth. The others followed her closely, keeping their weapons at the ready.

A thick, low fog was building, roiling from the mire, circling around their feet and culminating with the mists from the rain. The combination was clouding their vision and adding a chill to the already damp, biting air. They were upon the castle before they knew it.

Aislynn stopped abruptly, Cassandra skidding to a halt next to her, and her eyes swept over the crumbling battlements and broken gateway. The castle apparently had not been functional for hundreds of years, though something about its presence still caused her stomach to contract in apprehension.

Something was not _right…_

It was _quiet…too_ quiet.

Cautiously, the rogue padded forward on cat feet, slipping unseen into the shadows and inching her way forward. She motioned for the others to stay back while she crept further in, scrutinizing the courtyard for signs of the Avvar. What she _did_ see, however, took her completely aback. Instead of being full of the Avvar, as all the reports had indicated, the grounds were littered with the reanimated dead. Their shuffling steps left long, jagged prints in the muddy ground. Rusted armor clanked dismally and hollow groans echoed throughout the area sending chills up and down the elf's spine. Silently, she crept back to where the others were waiting.

"The courtyard has been taken by the undead. There aren't any Avvar in sight—yet. They may be lingering farther in the keep."

"How many?" asked the pragmatic Cassandra.

"Thirty at least…" Aislynn fingered the laces of her leather armor, deep in thought. Wondering aloud, she turned to Varric, "There are too many to take all at once…perhaps there's a way around them?"

"And what about the way out?" the Seeker blurted, "We can't sneak an entire group of possibly wounded soldiers past that many undead."

Solas tapped a finger on his staff, keeping his voice low, "Perhaps there is indeed a way. The Avvar are said to have taken this castle. For the undead to be here signifies one of two possibilities. Either the undead have taken the keep and have routed the Avvar, or the Avvar have another entrance. The first is most improbable due to the Avvar's brutal nature. I doubt these reanimated beings stand much resistance against these warriors. Logically, there must be another way around."

"Or else they just really enjoy fighting undead," Varric snorted. "That's a possibility too. I mean, you said they're brutal. It might be some sort of sick game—'Hey, I've got two already,' then, 'I'm on seventeen.' I mean, I wouldn't put it past 'em."

Aislynn's lips twitched in a brief grin—which was his aim—but ignored his humor otherwise, "They have another entrance. That courtyard wasn't littered with bodies…unless they reanimate themselves daily…bloody things…" her brows furrowed as she turned to inspect the rest of the castle. She slipped back into the shadows, the others following tentatively. Just around the corner was a crumbling set of stairs and the elf ascended them with astounding silence. The others followed her as quickly and as best they could. At the top, she slinked into the shadows, nearly disappearing entirely, and darted across the crumbling battlements to the other side of the courtyard. Just as she had hoped, the other side was empty, sectioned from the courtyard by a heavy iron gate. She rested on one knee and peered down into the castle proper.

As she had suspected, there was a rear entrance—simply a giant fissure from old age and decay in the stonework—where an Avvar guard was standing, alone. There weren't many of them present, she noticed, with a frown. Perhaps ten? She only counted five, but she expected there to be more—a few watching the prisoners, others out of sight, perhaps further inside the keep. She couldn't be sure. What Aislynn truly hoped was to catch sight of the Avvar Chieftain's son, but none of those present bore any distinguishing features, marks, clothing—nothing.

The rest of her comrades caught up, just then, and hunched into the shadows with her. She pointed to the Avvar on the grounds, exchanging a pointed look with Cassandra, "Watch my back…" she whispered. "I'll challenge their leader. Cover me if you sense treachery," then she grabbed Cassandra's arm and whispered in her ear, "and get _out_ if something…else…happens." She waited until the Seeker nodded her acknowledgement before hopping down from the battlements and into the yard.

All at once, the Avvar guards sprang to action, drawing their weapons and leaping after her. She removed the glove from her hand and held out the mark in warning, "I am the Herald of Andraste," she said with force, "and I have come in response to the challenge issued by your leader." Her gaze held steady as she glared down each and every one of the Avvar nearby. "Where is he?"

"Here," a rumbling voice came from the top of the stairs before her. "For a while, I didn't think you'd show." The Chieftain's son stepped slowly down to meet her.

Aislynn met his gaze stoically, "Yet here I am."

The Chiefling drew his greatsword and twirled it skillfully. "Good," he growled and charged her still form.

There was no turning back—_not anymore_.

Aislynn did not draw her weapons immediately. She stared the giant of a man down until he was only a few feet away, and then sidestepped, quickly and effortlessly. She took a few moments to evaluate his movement. While not as graceful and skillful as Cullen, he easily had twice the manpower and stamina. She would need to reserve her energy if she wanted any chance at all in freeing the soldiers.

The Avvar warrior rounded again, this time slower, wary of her tricks. She drew her daggers and faced him, every muscle in her body coiled and ready to spring.

And spring she did.

Charging again, the Chiefling swung his sword forward and sliced, aiming for her midsection. She twisted, flipping backwards and landing once more on her feet. Her evasiveness only seemed to anger the beastly figure and he roared a thundering battle cry, charging her with a speed she didn't know he possessed. His sword came down and she parried just in time, but the blow sent a shock through her hands and up her arms. She gritted her teeth and spun away as he broke through the parry. _Just in time,_ she breathed, feeling the steel slice through the air beside her.

Up until that point, the Chiefling had been testing her, watching her movements, appraising her skill. His lip curled in anger at her lithe form and he felt his patience wane the longer she drew out the battle. He was beginning to grow weary of their _game._

Aislynn noticed the heavy strokes, the lumbering movement, the threatening roars—and it made her tremble. Sparring with Cullen had been different—he had been careful, precise. His strokes, though forceful, had been calculated. They were meant to teach, not to kill. Now, dueling with the Avvar Chieftain's son, she felt his hatred emanating from his daunting presence. She could _die…_

It could be _over._

The realization that she was no longer playing a game, that the Herald of Andraste was more than a title, hit her as heavily as a ton of bricks on her chest and she staggered backwards. She was in it for her _life._ And not just hers—_everyone's._ Her breath caught in her throat as she watched his giant form race towards her.

His greatsword swung down, and she managed to block it, but only just in time. By now, he had caught on to her movements and blocked her escape. They dueled earnestly now. Each blow she deflected was strong enough to rattle her teeth, and every jab or thrust she was able to perform numbed her hand and sent shocks through her very bones. She couldn't stand much more of it if he kept her cornered.

She saw her opening come—as though it were in slow motion. His greatsword was held high. He wanted to _finish_ her then. She saw the murderous intent in his dark eyes. But it left his side open. And that was all she needed.

Aislynn leapt to his right, taking her chance. But then the sword came down and she knew she wasn't going to make it. She was nearly free when she felt the cold steel slice through her leather armor and into her flesh. It staggered her and she tumbled forward into the dirt, crashing into the castle debris. The elf, though winded, scampered to her feet, feeling her own hot blood seeping through her wound and her armor, but she gritted her teeth and held her swords at the ready.

Her mind wandered back to the training field, her last round with Cullen…would they ever spar again? She saw Josephine's face and the animation in it as she spoke of her contacts and the Antivan politics; Leliana's secretive smile and her dreams for the Inquisition…

They had only just begun.

_It isn't over yet…_ Aislynn reminded herself, feeling a roguish smile creep onto her face…"This is our last round, Chiefling…" she called out testily, twirling her blades. "Come get me!"

And he did. With a mighty bellow, the Avvar sprinted towards her, meaning to slice her in two. But—just as she had done with Cullen, she charged him as well, her swords braced for an encounter. As the two combatants neared, she let herself drop, sliding between his legs and twisting underneath him. Her wound ached and she felt it tear as she did, but no matter—once behind him, she leapt onto his back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and slit his throat.

He was dead before his body hit the ground.

Aislynn staggered backwards, away from the body as the rest of her comrades jumped from their positions to join her. The other Avvar soldiers, having lost their leader, quickly disbanded, rather in awe of the mighty Herald of Andraste.

The elf did not even wait till the field had been cleared before rummaging through the Chiefling's corpse and procuring a skeleton key which she hoped would free the Inquisition soldiers.

That hope was rewarded fully. The men had been watching from their prison cell window and shouted for her once the battle was over. Though limping, Aislynn moved quickly to their door and jiggled the key. Once she heard the clink of the bolt, she pushed it open and there they were—all of them. All alive, though some slightly wounded.

But the looks on their faces…

"The Herald of Andraste…" they whispered. "_You_ came…_You_ came for us," their voices were filled with wonder, their eyes overflowing with relief and gratitude.

"You saved our lives, m'lady."

"Maker be praised."

One young soldier, barely in his twenties and hardly much older than she, approached her as he and the others filtered out of the cell. There were tears in his eyes as he knelt in front of her, "My lady Herald…" he murmured, but found he could not finish his sentence. Aislynn knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder, gently, understanding in her eyes.

"We're going _home…_" she whispered.

Ensuring that everyone was out, Aislynn asked Cassandra to take point and lead the others out, finding that the strain of staying upright was all she could focus on for the time being. Checking her wound, she was pleased to find that the brunt of it had been taken by her armor and she made a mental note—as she had already forgotten before—to thank the particular person who had seen fit to give it to her. _Maker knows how much worse it would be without it…_

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she watched the soldiers lumber through the bog. They had been willing to die for this cause long before she had even realized the gravity of the situation. At that moment, Aislynn made a vow to herself—and the Inquisition. She _would_ be the hope they needed, _when_ they needed it. She would devote just as deeply as they had done.

_But for now…_ Aislynn smiled soflty, _we're going home…_

_**~oOo~**_

_Commander,_

_The mission was successful and the captured soldiers are freed. Once they have rested and had a chance to recover enough from their desolate conditions within the prison cells, we will break camp and meet you again in Haven. The expected return is within a week from your receipt of this letter._

_Lady Lavellan_

_P.S. ~ Cullen,_

_I may have forgotten to thank you before what with the bustle in the Hinterlands, but that armor that you chose (and Varric sized) came in quite handy. Oh, and don't furrow your brows—I know you're doing it, so stop. I'm quite all right. Again, thanks to your foresight. See you soon!_

_Aislynn_


	12. No Answers

_Over 2000 views! I can hardly believe it! __ Anyway—some of you may be wondering, "Why make a big deal out of rescuing the soldiers from the Fallow Mire? It's a mini quest, right?" Well, you're right. In the game, it's not a big deal at all. Neither is becoming the Herald of Andraste. It just…happens. I wanted there to be a "growing" point for our little elf—a moment when she realizes just how _big_ the situation is. So, the duel between the Avvar Chieftain's son and rescuing the soldiers was her growing point. This chapter is going to be the beginning of her execution of what decision she made last time. I hope you enjoy! _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

There were never enough hours in the day to accomplish half of what truly needed to be done. It was like battling a mythical hydra—for every head cut off, three more took its place. Paperwork was no different. Cullen squeezed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache beginning to form. Sleeping had become a thing of the past for him since joining the Inquisition, but the fault could not entirely be attributed to the paperwork.

Cullen felt his eyes drawn to a wooden box in the corner of his field tent and he had to forcibly wrench his eyes away and back to the report he was reading. _Lyrium could help with the fatigue…_ came a tempting whisper in his mind and he felt his stomach churn as his will and his want battled fiercely. Eventually, now more frustrated than ever, he stood and stomped out of his tent and towards the training field. He was due for a walk, in any case. The Commander had never been especially fond of pushing paperwork, but being unable to catch up with it at all made it nearly intolerable.

Breathing in the fresh air, he felt his headache begin to clear, if only slightly. But it was enough. Slowly, he moved through the training fields, inspecting the new recruits. His second, Ser Rylen, had them practicing with each other, getting them used to the feel of steel on steel. The young captain was diligently barking orders and maneuvers until he saw the Commander approach. Saluting, Ser Rylen ran to stand by the Commander.

"I was just about to send a recruit for you," the captain admitted. "I was hoping you'd oversee their form, Ser."

Cullen hid the smile he felt beginning to form, nodding quickly instead, "Of course." He knew that Ser Rylen underestimated his skill—greatly. Of all the men he had been privileged to work with, Ser Rylen seemed to show the most aptitude to lead. He easily took command of the tasks given to him and had never once given less than his utmost best. Quite honestly, if anything were to happen—Maker forbid—Ser Rylen was more than qualified to fill the Commander's shoes.

Rubbing a gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, the Commander inspected the forces. Most of the new recruits had never carried a sword before, more used to pitchforks and shovels and tools. However, they had twice as much heart as any of the soldiers in their midst. Unsurprisingly, though, they were quite a long ways from being as proficient.

Cullen's eyes drifted to one particular recruit nearby and he shook his head, "You there! You've a shield in your hand—block with it," and the startled recruit stared back at him with uncertain eyes. The Commander crossed his arms and scoffed, "If that man were your enemy, you'd be dead," only frightening the poor recruit more, but he _did_ remember to use his shield more appropriately in the next round. Turning his attention, then, to Ser Rylen, Cullen explained adamantly, "Don't hold back. The recruits _must_ be ready for a real fight—_not_ a practice one."

Ser Rylen nodded quickly, "Yes, Commander," and he moved immediately to begin the next phase of training with the recruits.

For a few moments more, Cullen continued to supervise the troops, but his mind wasn't entirely on training. A few of the soldiers in the current sessions were those that had been captured—and freed—in the Fallow Mire. And more naturally than he'd like to admit, his thoughts roamed to the one responsible for their presence: Aislynn.

He couldn't hide the small smile that played on his lips this time. How long had it been since he had been thinking of her as just _Aislynn_, now, and not the revered Herald of Andraste? Since their sparring match? Or was it before? He could not recall. Upon returning to Haven, the elf had been working tirelessly. Her own companions hadn't even known she was wounded until the day after they'd arrived at which point Solas had severely scolded her for allowing it to go unattended as long as she did. He had done what he could but informed her sternly that she'd have a regrettably large scar permanently drawn on her side. She had taken the news completely unfazed and was almost just as angry at Solas for demanding that she take a few days to just _rest._

Of course, Cullen hadn't seen her personally at _all_ since she arrived. Perhaps once in passing, but she had been in deep conversation with Cassandra and hadn't noticed him. The relationship that Aislynn shared with the Seeker had changed drastically since their return from the Fallow Mire. It pleased him that the brave little elf was making friends among her companions.

He just wished…and then his mind erupted with so many questions, the loudest of them all at streaming at the fore: _What _do_ you wish?_

Cullen was pondering this when he felt a familiar presence beside him and he almost shivered at how well he recognized it. He didn't need to turn; he already knew…

"Good day, Commander," Aislynn gazed up at him, her flowing auburn hair tied back into a ponytail held with a black velvet band and her lovely—and incessantly impish—smile spread across her face.

A gradual warmth spread over him, completely unbidden. He shifted slightly from one foot to another. He smiled at her, lost for a moment, and then he cleared his throat, the Commander in him coming out instead, as he explained—as though he needed to—"We've received a number of recruits, locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did."

He raised a brow at her and she responded archly, "I _do_ love to be the center of attention…"

"That you do," he agreed teasingly with his signature lopsided grin. He motioned for her to follow him as he moved between the ranks of training soldiers. "I was recruited to join the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising and saw first-hand the devastation it caused."

They walked together to the other side of the field, completely oblivious to the scout chasing behind the Commander, report in hand—vying for his acknowledgment, "Ser!" he called out—but to no avail.

"Cassandra sought a solution," Cullen explained. "When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse."

The roguishness left and was replaced by determination. "I must have this mark for a reason," she insisted. "It will work—I'm sure of it."

"Provided we can secure aid, and I'm confident we _can." _They stopped together at the edge of the field by the tents. He sighed, finally acknowledging the scout and taking the report from his hands, but continued his discussion with Aislynn: "The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages; now, they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act where the Chantry could not. _Our _followers would be part of that. There's so much we could—" Cullen stopped himself abruptly, realizing suddenly that he had been ranting. Raking a hand through his hair, he apologized with a sheepish smile and a much softer voice, "Forgive me—I doubt you came here for a lecture."

Aislynn's playful smile returned, but her response was sincere, "No, but if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it." The elfin lass cocked her head to the side slightly, as though expecting him to continue his lecture. She found it rather amusing that the self-assured, strong Commander of the Inquisition continued to feel flustered with her teasing. It both amused and intrigued her and she had never been one to leave such curiosities alone.

Cullen chuckled at her eagerness and shook his head, "Another time perhaps…" his eyes met hers and he found he could not look away. They were depthless, those eyes. Vibrant, inquisitive, mischievous—all the most attractive things he thought of her reflected in her gaze. And when she _smiled_ like that... _Maker's breath, is she…is she flirting? _"I…ah…" he stammered, trying to pull his senses together, clearing his throat and trying to remember what his point had been, "There's still a lot of work ahead…"

"Commander," another soldier approached him with yet another task, "Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines."

He cast an incongruous gaze at Aislynn and they shared a knowing smile, "As I was saying…" Cullen nodded politely to her as he moved to attend his various duties. "Good day, my lady."

She waved, somewhat bashfully, before biting her lower lip in thought. Truthfully, she had only hoped to convince him to spar with her, but the emotions she was left with—watching him leave—confused and worried her. _I'm an elf…_ she sighed unhappily…_and he wouldn't—couldn't possibly consider... Perhaps that is why he feels so nervous…he thinks that I…and he is opposed but too kind to tell me…_She felt the tips of her ears grow impossibly red in her mortification. _I can't possibly face him after this…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn buried herself among the people of Haven. She had returned from the Fallow Mire changed and determined. What strength she had was now the Inquisitions. What time she had was now the people's. And while she knew she would never be able to know them all as well as she'd like to, she wanted those who looked up to her—who willingly and reverently labeled her as the Herald of Andraste—to know that she was accessible. That she _cared._

No task was too menial, nor was it too great. Aislynn often found herself with the villagers, helping them with their chores. Many had brought what herds they had left with them and were severely short staffed because of the rebellion. Other times, she found herself amongst the soldiers, training with them, tutoring the newer ones, playing messenger for some of the captains. She had dived head first into her newfound purpose and it thrilled her like nothing else had ever done before.

She wondered if the renowned Hero of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall had ever felt as she did—_valuable._ Her thoughts traveled to her clan and she hoped that Aiden was safe. As much as she missed him, she knew how desperately her clan needed good people—strong people—like her brother, who could defend them and help lead them. With a small smile, she realized just how much she missed him. They had parted better than she had anticipated after all but breaking his already shredded heart by refusing to accompany him back to the clan. His parting had been quick and brief, but he had held her and assured her he would be keeping an eye on her…as though she thought he would do any less.

From there, her thoughts turned to her advisors, those she would be working with most. It occurred to her that she knew very little about any of them. Feeling somewhat guilty, she stood to find Leliana. After their brief conversation following her return from the Hinterlands, the elf feared she may have shown the Nightingale less attention than intended. She hoped to make amends.

Aislynn found Leliana in prayer in her field tent. She turned to leave her, but something about the way she spoke made the elf want to linger and to hear more.

"Blessed are the peace keepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written…Is that what You want from us? Blood?" her voice sounded parts weary and angry as she continued, "To die so that Your will is done? Is death Your only blessing?" She rose from her kneeling position and saw Aislynn waiting outside the tent. Calling out to her with a voice as sharp as daggers she asked, "You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's _prophet_ have to say about all of this? What's His game?" Leliana's face reflected the anger in her voice.

The elf met her gaze evenly, "I speak for no one but myself…and I have no answers for you."

Leliana scoffed, "You probably don't even worship the Maker," and her eyes narrowed. "Lucky. He asks a _lot._" Standing, she stepped closer to Aislynn, "The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us, that he requires repentance for our sins. He demands it all—our lives, our deaths," each word held more contempt as she spoke. "Justinia gave Him everything she had and _He _let her _die._"

The elf did not vocalize her opinion. Her thoughts were not on the Maker, but on the people that murdered Justinia in the first place—whoever they were. The thought sent a shiver down her spine as she felt apprehension growing. Eventually they would discover the culprits…and she hoped by the Creators it would be soon.

Leliana continued bitterly, "If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine…helping people. But now she's dead…and it was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

There was nothing Aislynn could have said that would have cheered the Chantry Sister, but Aislynn tried nonetheless. "Perhaps you are meant for another purpose. I could help you find it, if you wished."

"No," was the sharp reply, "This is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It…was a moment of weakness. It won't happen again." She turned away from Aislynn, "To work then. We will speak later," she promised with a heavy heart.

The elf bowed politely and headed once more towards the training fields. She hoped that Josephine would be able to secure a meeting with the Chantry Mothers soon so that they might gain the necessary support—and quickly—

If only to find closure for those _desperately_ seeking it.


	13. Val Royeaux

_Hello again, dear readers. Thank you for your patience as this chapter is a few days late in coming. As always, the favorites and the follows are very much appreciated. That you all want to follow this story is amazing to me. Thanks for sticking with it. As this is a transition chapter, I've taken much of the original dialogue from the game, but as new chapters come, there will be a great deal more of _my_ original work. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks again!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"Well, there she is." Varric muttered, "Val Royeaux. Ain't she just darlin'?" he drawled sarcastically.

Aislynn stared up at the grand spires of the city entrance. Val Royeaux was not what she had been expecting—it was _more._ Grander, larger, louder—more colorful, more vibrant, more _interesting: _she had to focus on keeping her mouth closed as she gaped at the massive statues and the elegant structures. The stone pathway, though worn, was clean and well maintained; and she felt almost guilty for stepping over it with her muddied boots.

Cassandra turned aside to her companion, "The city still mourns…" The Seeker responded to the emotional state of the city. Where she had once seen a bustling town of lively people, the grand entryway was silent and bare. Well maintained, but dead all the same.

The elf's admiring gazes were disrupted when a woman spied them and gasped in horror, stumbling in her abominably pointed shoes to hide behind her husband.

"Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are," Varric murmured, shaking his head at the ridiculous nobles.

Cassandra's lips curled into a slight sneer as she replied, "Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric..."

"My lady herald!" a scout called, hurrying toward them from across the way. She kneeled before Aislynn and the elf shifted nervously.

The Seeker took over, her eyes narrowing, "You're one of Leliana's people. What have you found?"

Looking up to meet the tall woman's gaze the scout responded with mild alarm, "The Chantry mothers await you, but…so do a great many Templars…"

Incredulous, Cassandra repeated, "The Templars are here?"

"They seem to think that the Templars will protect them from…from the Inquisition," the scout replied with no small amount of wonder. "They're gathering on the other side of the market. I think that's where the Templars intend to meet you."

Aislynn and Cassandra exchanged glances before the dark woman murmured, "Only one thing to do then…" and the group of travelers strode forward into what they assumed was going to be something frighteningly akin to a live hornets' nest…

_**~oOo~**_

They ventured into the center of the Summer Bazaar where a wooden dais had been erected toward once side of the market place. Upon it stood several Chantry mothers, all whose faces seemed to be blushed red with righteous indignation. One of the foremost mothers was speaking, her Orlesian accent heavy and low as she spoke slowly and purposefully to the great crowd that had gathered around the dais.

"Good people of Val Royeax…hear me!"

Aislynn and her companions stopped in the midst of the crowd, listening to the woman speak.

"Together, we mourn our Divine," and she stepped slightly forward, "her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery…" Her eyes drifted to the members of the Inquisition and her gaze hardened. "You wonder what will become of her murderer? Well, wonder no more…" the crowd moved aside and Aislynn and her companions found themselves separated from the mob of people in attendance. "Behold, the so called 'Herald of Andraste,'" and Aislynn wondered if there could possibly be any more distaste in the Chantry mother's voice as she spoke the title, "claiming to rise where our beloved fell. _We_ say this is a _false prophet_! The Maker would send no _elf_ in our hour of need."

Boldly, the elf strode forward, unable to take anymore, "We came here to talk peacefully with you and _this _is what you do?" her face contorted into a disapproving grimace."Will you not put aside our differences for the moment to deal with the danger in our midst? Or is everyone going to simply ignore the giant hole in the sky because I'm an elf?"

"It's true," Cassandra interjected. "The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late."

"It's already too late," the Mother exclaimed as just then a group of Templars took the stage. She cried out exultantly to the masses, "The Templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face the Inquisition; and the people will be safe once more!"

Her face exuded triumph as she stared down the Herald of Andraste. She moved to speak again, but one of the Templar soldier's armored gloves balled into a fist and struck her on the skull. The Chantry mother cried out and then sank unconscious to the ground.

Panic ensued amongst the gathered crowd. The women gasped and hid their children's faces in their petticoats. Men cried out in indignation and raised their fists to the offenders. One Templar, hiding among some of the mothers who were cowering in the back, moved forward to assist the unconscious one, but the presumed leader of the knights stopped him.

"Still yourself. She is beneath us," he growled to the young knight.

Guilt played upon the young man's features, but he backed away obediently.

Aislynn could not entirely hide the great shock she felt, but addressed the man with no less impudence for it, "Not here for us, then?"

Cassandra stiffened visibly next to Aislynn and the elf glanced askance at her as she shouted, "Lord Seeker Lucius!" she quickly stepped to the end of the dais where he stood, "It is imperative that we speak with—"

"You will not address me…" he growled at her, not even turning to acknowledge her presence.

Confusion filled her eyes, "Lord Seeker?"

"Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet—you should be _ashamed,_" his eyes flashed fire as he continued, "You should _all_ be ashamed. The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages." And then he pointed to Aislynn, "You are the ones who have failed—you who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came here to appeal to the Chantry, then you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine._"

_Such pretty words from such an ugly man…_ Aislynn thought, disgusted, as she stared him down, equal parts of impertinence and anger lighting up her emerald eyes, "I thought the Templars would at least see _some_ measure of reason. Does nobody recognize that the world is falling apart? While the Templars and Mages cut out each others' throats, demons are pouring through the breach, attacking Thedas. Does this mean nothing to you?"

"I would sooner align with a toad than with a heretical elf posing as Andraste's chosen." He spat at her and she glared at him feeling her anger rise at his disrespect, "You are _nothing. _You have no influence, no power, and _certainly_ no holy purpose."

A young Templar broke rank with the others, the same who had moved to help the Chantry mother, and intercepted Seeker Lucius, "But Lord Seeker—what if she is telling the truth? What if she really was sent by the Maker?"

"You are called to a higher purpose," snarled another: the Templar that had attacked the Chantry mother. "Do not question."

Cassandra seemed absolutely appalled and she stepped forward to confront the Lord Seeker further but his face contorted into a dangerous scowl, "_I _will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition—Independence!" The Lord Seeker moved to stand in front of Aislynn, sneering down at her, "You have shown me_ nothing._ And the Inquisition, _less_ than nothing." As he turned away, he barked at the Templars, "Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!"

Their armor clanked as the group marched away, the sun gleaming off of their shined plate mail. Their figures grew smaller in the distance and ever so slowly the crowd disbanded, worry and fear silencing their typically wagging tongues.

From beside Aislynn, Varric sighed, "Charming fellow, isn't he?"

Ignoring Varric completely, the dark haired Seeker shook her head in wonder, "Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?"

Aislynn crossed her arms as she watched the mob leave. Only one Templar turned to look back and she felt, just for a moment, he might leave the group. He did not, and her hope sank considerably. The elf sighed heavily and questioned Cassandra, "How well do you know the Lord Seeker?"

"He took over the Seeker's of Truth two years ago after Lord Lambert's death. He was _always_ a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is _very_ bizarre."

The elf nodded, "I don't foresee the Lord Seeker being willing to discuss this anytime soon. There may be others in the order willing to talk, however, but at least they're not our only option."

"I wouldn't write them off so quickly. There must be others in the order who have seen what he's become. Either way we should return to Haven to inform the others." Cassandra advised, her voice low and her thoughts dark.

Turning her attention to the Chantry mothers, Aislynn and her group approached tentatively. The injured mother was beginning to awaken; and, upon doing so, she glared daggers at the members of the Inquisition.

"Your victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra," she rasped from her prone position.

"We came here only to speak with the mothers. This is not our doing, but yours." The Seeker corrected, restraining herself from assisting her to her feet.

The mother laughed harshly, "And you think you had no part in forcing our hand? We've been shown up by our own Templars—in front of _everyone._ And now my fellow clerics are scattered to the wind, along with their convictions. Just tell me one thing," her eyes drifted to Aislynn's. "Do you truly believe that you are the Maker's chosen?"

_Have you not already decided what I am?_ Her thoughts accused the Chantry mother viciously. And then reason and a small amount of compassion shone through her clouded thoughts and she sighed, "Honestly, Mother, I do not know that for sure."

"That…" whispered the mother, "is more comforting that you will ever know. It is out of our hands now. We shall all see what the Maker plans."

Kneeling beside her, Aislynn put a gentle hand to her shoulder, "Mother, it is not too late. The Chantry could still help us and come out on top."

"If only that were true." The Chantry mother kept her eyes downcast, unable to meet Aislynn's gaze.

"What's stopping you?"

"We are not interested in winning wars, my dear," her voice was sorrowful. "We are only trying to do the right thing."

_The right thing…_ Aislynn felt the familiar fear and doubt gnawing in her mind, unease settling in the pit of her stomach. _What is the right thing? We're all searching for it—everyone thinks they're doing it. So which is it? The mages thought that the right thing was freedom. The Templars thought that the right thing was control. The Chantry thought the right thing was their faith. What about me?_ As she stepped away from the Chantry mothers, Aislynn's thoughts were still whirling. She was still lost in deep thought when they reached the other side of the market.

"If I might have a moment of your time," a woman's voice behind her sent Aislynn whirling, her hand moving to a dirk at her side.

When she saw who it was that approached her, her eyes widened and Cassandra's voice echoed her thoughts, "Grand Enchanter Fiona!

"Leader of the mage rebellion," Solas acknowledged her. "Is it not dangerous for you to be here?"

Her pointed ears and dark hair stood out against her pale skin as she answered, "I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes." She approached Aislynn specifically, "If it is help with the Breach that you seek then perhaps it is my people who are the wiser option."

Regarding her carefully, Aislynn asked, "I'm surprised you were not at the conclave, as leader of the mages."

"You were supposed to be, yet somehow you avoided death," Cassandra added, suspicion arises like fire in her eyes.

Fiona countered, keeping her expression placid, "So was the Lord Seeker, you'll note, and yet he is here as well." She turned her eyes back once more to Aislynn. "We sent negotiators in our stead just in case the Conclave turned out to be a trap…but do not think that I am glad to be alive, for I lost many good friends. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it; and I am hoping you won't let them." There was a quiet fervor in the intonation of her voice that hinted to the Inquisition members that she was, perhaps, worth trusting. Yet, after all that had happened, there were still too many variables—too many questions left unanswered.

The elf's eyes flashed, "The mages weren't willing to talk to the Inquisition before. Why help us now?"

"Because I have seen what _you_ are and have seen the Chantry for what _it_ is. So," she continued, her chin set in her determination, "consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come, meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both after all. I hope to see you there."

"I will consider you offer, Enchanter Fiona," Aislynn nodded politely, not willing to commit to anything just yet. Something in her mind screamed in warning at the woman's appearance. _Not everything is as it seems_… logic reminded her.

"Au revoir, Herald," Fiona bowed slightly. "Perhaps we will meet again soon."

They watched her go, their thoughts filled with a restless unease. Solas spoke first, "The mages are desperate, it seems, if they are seeking you out like this after a complete renouncement by the Chantry _and_ the Templars." He cocked his head slightly, "I will admit that I am a great deal curious about their offer."

Aislynn nodded and motioned for her group to continue. _I will think on this as we travel._

So lost in thought was the elf _almost_ didn't see the flash of movement in the shadows to her left just before a black arrow was released, flying from the shadows and landing upright several feet before her.

As the members of her party drew their weapons and readied for what they supposed was an ambush, Aislynn's eyes narrowed, spying the note quivering in the wind on the arrow shaft. Deftly, she untied the string keeping it anchored and read it.

The elf's eyes were dangerously dark when she finally stood after reading the note. She turned to her companions and murmured, "We may not be able to go to Haven just yet." She handed the note to Cassandra who read it quickly and crumpled it in her hand.

"Who would want you dead?"

"You still have doubts after this meeting?"

The Seeker crossed her arms, "Very well. Whoever this 'Red Jenny' is...she obviously knows something. Let us look for these clues, then - and quickly."

Varric slung his crossbow over his shoulder. "And the fun begins," he winked at Aislynn.

The elf, however, was too lost in dark thoughts to respond to his jest.

_Creators be merciful, because _I_ won't be…_


	14. Breeches

_Thanks again for your patience. I am switching back and forth between this story and my first one, Victory, Vigilance, and Sacrifice, due to the increasing number of requests I'm getting for it. In a few chapters, Cullen is going to make his "debut" appearance for that fanfic. I never appreciated how in the game they pretty much ruined his life and then that was it. We didn't see him again till Kirkwall. Since it is _my_ fanfic, though…I'm changing that, a bit. ;) In any case: Chapter 14!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

The streets of Val Royeaux, though still bustling with business, were strangely meek after the bitter affair the people had witnessed earlier that day. And, while it detracted from the whole spirit of the Summer Bazaar, it enhanced the sleuthing atmosphere. Aislynn kept a low profile, though she suspected a great majority of the people already knew or had guessed her identity. She and her companions had split into two groups in order to cover more ground. Solas had suggested a rogue be in each group should they come across some "deft work," as he had put it. Therefore, Solas had accompanied her and Cassanda and Varric paired together—much to Cassandra's dismay.

Solas watched his elfin companion with amusement as she flitted from one canopied booth to the next. The way her brows knitted together in consideration, the way her hands brushed every object she saw in the market, the quirk of her lips when she saw some oddity—she was so _young._ She still held that youthful inquisitiveness that simply had to _know_ everything, that assumed there were still logical and unquestioned lines between black and white—no gray area. The world was still colorful and exciting, whereas he…

The hedge mage felt a twinge of a smile touch his lips as he thought wryly, _I am older…and not as impressed with the mundane…_

Aislynn felt a flush creep over her cheeks as she felt his gaze on her. _How long has he been staring?_ she wondered. It was flattering to have his attention—Solas was, indeed, one of the smartest people she had met. His knowledge of the fade and of the arcane mystified her and intrigued her. Ignoring his interest was nearly impossible…though she had to admit, something _always_ held her back. Nervously, Aislynn brushed a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ears, doing everything in her power not to meet his gaze.

Suddenly, something on the ground in the tavern caught her eye. She ambled casually toward the bar and took a seat on an adjacent table. There were others at the table over which the object sat and, for a moment, she panicked, wondering how she'd be able to retrieve the clue. Solas noticed her dilemma and reached for her hand from across the table. She tensed, startled, her eyes wide as she gazed at him for answers.

"I'm glad the journey here was pleasant," he murmured, casting a surreptitious glance at the nearby table. "We'll have to hire that carriage master again for the trip back."

She blinked for a moment and then understanding dawned on her face and she smiled winningly, "Indeed. It was most enjoyable."

Solas felt his heart melt at that smile. She never really used it much and he felt a pang of regret that their acquaintance had transpired during such a perilous time. And yet, he knew, under different circumstances, that their meeting would not have been so special, and they would not be quite so connected.

_Special…connected…_ he twirled the words around in his head as he mulled their meanings over and wondered if she felt the same way. A part of him hoped she didn't—he had been alone so long he wasn't sure if the company of another being would just be a distraction or disturbance. And then again…when she smiled like that…it was almost enough to make him want to throw all his research and traveling away.

_Almost._

After a few minutes and when most of the tavern drinkers had become accustomed to their presence, Solas let slip a rock under the table next to them. Quickly, Aislynn mumbled her apologies and grasped the pebble and the red bit of cloth, hiding it within the folds of her leather armor.

"Shall we?" she asked quietly and the mage across from her nodded. Casually, they exited the tavern together.

Finally outside again, Aislynn took a deep breath and flashed a relieved smile at her companion and he felt his heart lurch again. The Herald flushed crimson and waved at Cassandra and Varric already awaiting them in the square, avoiding Solas's eyes again.

"A successful mission," Cassandra verified.

"Now all we have to do is piece them together…" Aislynn said, a slight frown on her face as she held up the clues.

Varric chuckled, "Anyone need a drink? This might take a while…"

_**~oOo~**_

It wasn't the first time Aislynn had faced an angry nobleman. In fact, prior to the Inquisition, she'd faced quite a few. It _was_ the first time, however, that a raving nobleman had threatened her life and continually droned on about how important he was, how it couldn't have been an accident that she and her comrades had found him, and how his efforts would survive in victories against her for some time to come. _It was a beautiful speech, really_, she supposed. And then suddenly, the poor chap said "what" and he was lying dead on the floor with an arrow in his head—befitting, though considerably more anticlimactic than he had probably intended. _Sad, that._

The blond elf responsible for his demise called herself Sera, spoke gibberish, but was _deadly_ with her bow. And then she called the Herald of Andraste _plain._ _Just a person._ But at least she said the "herald-thingy" glowed. That was nice. And she somehow had procured all of the guards' breeches…in a bag…

_That's why the guards had run out looking a bit…jiggly…_ After all, it _was_ the dead of night. They could have been mistaken. But…they weren't. Aislynn felt her stomach reel in disgust…_Ugh…_

"So…Herald of Andraste…" Sera drawled with her bit of cheapside accent, "You're a strange one. I want to join you."

Of course, Sera had followed this with a bunch of rubbish about little people and friends of Red Jenny. Little people hating someone big and making sure that big thing got its come-uppance. Simple, really.

And the question of all questions followed as Aislynn tried to wrap her head around the whole ordeal… "Why?"

"Look, I want to get everything back to normal. I join you, you close the big hole thing in the sky. I have _plans, _see. You get me _and_ my friends. The friends of Red Jenny."

There had been a few other questions, all answered in different versions of the same thing. Bad guys get dead, not so bad guys are not so dead. They weren't quite spies, but they weren't quite soldiers. They weren't quite _little_, little people, but they weren't _big_ either. It was a bit of a mystery, but Sera claimed they were everywhere. Sort of.

"All right, Sera," Aislynn found herself saying. "I can use you and your friends."

"Yes! Get in good before you're too big to like," Sera exclaimed. "That'll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus I have all these extra…" she motioned at her quarry of pants, "you have merchants that buy this pish, yeah? Anyway, Haven. See ya there, Herald." And just about as abruptly as she had arrived, she was gone.

Well, that was that. The Inquisition had a new agent.

_And a bagfull of breeches_…

_**~oOo~**_

"Ser?" the scout called, trailing after the Commander.

Cullen hadn't heard him. He was barking commands over the howling Fereldan winds at the new recruits and the training soldiers. Just the winds alone were deafening, but somehow the Commander's voice was carrying through. He paced through the training ground and to the field tents, helping to secure the ropes better, calling out for others to do the same, before continuing up the path to the village proper.

"Ser?" the scout called again, undaunted. _Still,_ he wasn't heard.

"I want all the weaponry stored in the stables with the rest of the armor. A storm's heading this way and I want nothing left out to the elements," he said to one of his lieutenants. The young man nodded and moved to obey.

"Ser!" shouted the scout in the Commander's ear.

Angry, amber eyes turned and glared at the young man and the Commander growled, "What?"

The young scout felt his knees tremble as he shrank back, suddenly forgetting why he had been chasing the Commander.

Cullen had no time for games and he moved so that he faced the scout directly, "What?!"

Startled and even more intimidated, the scout stuttered, "S-ser, a message ser." He handed over the parchment. "And a p-package."

The Commander snatched the two things from the scout's hands and walked away without another word, continuing to shout orders to the rest of his troops. He raked a gloved hand through is blond hair, mussed beyond all hope due to the raging winds.

There was still so much to be done. So much work to do. The troops were hardly ready for a battle, if it ever came to that—and he knew it would. They were short on supplies, healers, food—everything. And while support was important, he felt overwhelmed by how many of the other needs were being neglected.

_Not neglected…_ he reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time that month. _Not neglected—we simply have no resources._ Cullen entered the Chantry walls, glad to finally be out of the wind. But he hadn't gone there for shelter. Long legs carried him to the war table, firm hands set down the parcels he carried, and an imposing form leaned over the long, wooden table. Observing the pieces on the board, Cullen mulled over the next steps they would have to take.

One piece still stood over Val Royeaux and he fiddled with it, gently.

How long had it been? A week, at the least? Or more? He wasn't quite sure. The days seemed to roll together. Between the day she left and her expected arrival, he had sent out twelve missions and not all of them successful. While none of his soldiers had been lost, gaining a foothold anywhere in the vicinity was still perilous. He hoped to have secured more of the area for when she returned. That way, her next mission would prove to be less strenuous.

Guilt rose in his chest and escaped in a sigh. Were he able, he'd rather himself take on the surrounding leads than her. _Isn't that what Commanders do? Lead things? _He glanced wearily at the board and then rubbed the back of his neck. _So much to do…_ he felt his headache start to form again between his eyes and he rubbed a gloved hand down his face.

"They're arriving tonight, you know," Leliana said from across the room. "You can move that piece back to Haven."

Cullen's head snapped up and he faced the spymaster, trying to feign a look of detachment, "I was just…planning tomorrow's advances."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that," she flipped her red hair from her eyes and smiled mischievously at him.

The Commander's face turned red knowing he'd set himself up for her pointed jest. With more force than intended, he set the piece he'd been fiddling with down again on the map and stepped away, grabbing the message and the package, and trying to ignore the amused glances from Leliana. _How could that woman ever have been a simple Chantry sister?_ He grumped as he made his way to his field tent. _She's much too devious…_

Dusk, cold and gray, had already settled upon Haven when Commander Cullen reached his field tent. The night watch was switching over and he could hear the troops' booted feet falling in formation as they marched from their tents to their posts. Biting winds ripped at his pauldrons and he shrugged them off quickly, glad to be rid of the fur. While decorative and handy in battle, they tended to run rampant in the wind, getting in his nose and his eyes, as they had done all throughout the day. Wearily, Cullen sank onto his cot and eyed the stack of paperwork awaiting him on his makeshift desk. One report after another, consecutively, had been adding up while he had been training his soldiers. He was exhausted_, _but then again, he was always exhausted—he hardly ever slept. Between paperwork and training and troop advancements—

Cullen pulled off his gloves and tried to still his overactive mind. One by one, he filtered through his reports, responding to some, filing away others—and he had a few of his own to write in regards to his own progress. _Those, at least, can wait till morning…_ he rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut against the throbbing headache. A few moments passed before he opened one eye, glancing at the message still lying unopened on his table. Allowing himself a deep breath, he took it in his hands and flipped it over, the handwriting on the front making his heart leap in recognition.

A small smile played on his lips as he read it to himself:

_Cullen,_

_I've already sent a report to Leliana about the mission; I just wanted to warn you about what's coming ahead of us:_

_Her name is Sera, she's an elf, blonde, goes by one of the friends of 'Red Jenny.' She's one of ours now, for some reason. And she's…well…you'll see. Most likely, she'll arrive a day ahead of us, if she hasn't appeared already. She's got a bit of a habit of turning up rather unexpectedly. Just a warning—try not to get on her bad side. She's pretty quick with a bow. Saved our lives, actually, because of it._

_I hope this finds you well. And actually, I was hoping to reserve some of your time before they send me out again. Now, don't furrow your brows—Varric says it's bad for your health when you keep a serious expression like that on your face. There, I made you smile, I hope._

_Anyway—I was hoping you'd still be willing to spar with me. Nothing like a brush with death again to show a girl how rusty she is with blocking knives being thrown at her back._

_You're frowning again—I can feel it all the way over here. _

_Stop it._

_See you soon,_

_~Aislynn~_

_P.S. The bag is a gift from our new 'friends.'_

Something about the familiarity with which she wrote him always made him smile—and furrow his brows, just as she said. He folded the letter and stashed it with another similar to it by his bedside.

Then, turning his attention to the package, he unlaced the twine keeping it shut and opened the canvas folds. But what was in them made his forehead knit together in consternation.

It seemed, what he was holding in his hands, was none other than…

A full bag of _breeches._


	15. Decision

_Just out of curiosity…anybody else out there catching the movie quotes I'm throwing around in my stories? I know one person has at least and they pointed it out and it's become somewhat of a game. ;) Just thought I'd throw it out there for anyone mildly interested. Thanks again, everyone, for reading!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

It turned out that Aislynn had more than one agent join the Inquisition's cause before they returned to Haven, though she hadn't had time to inform her advisors of the addition. Aside from the eccentric Sera, who arrived separately from their group, the nearly appointed First Enchanter of the Circle in Montsimmard and the official Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais, Vivienne, accompanied the Herald of Andraste as she and her companions entered the town. The loyalist mage held her head high, posture erect, steps graceful and measured, and eyes perceptive as she and the others made their way to the village Chantry.

Solas and Varric stopped outside the Chantry door and bid the rest of their comrades goodnight.

"You know me and briefings, Ace. I do colorful and fictional sorts of things, and Leliana might not be so excited to hear my version," he teased.

Aislynn gave him a quick hug, "Thanks for all your help, Varric. I'll sneak in a line or two for you." He chuckled at her jest and waved back at her as he moved to his own quarters.

Solas nodded courteously and would have dismissed himself, but Aislynn touched his arm gently, "Ma serannas, lethallin."

A smile played at his lips and he bid her goodnight, leaving only Cassandra and the new agent with the Herald of Andraste standing before the Chantry.

The little elf glanced at the tall, elegant woman apologetically and the mage smiled guardedly, "My dear, you need not fret. I am quite used to meetings such as this."

It was Cassandra that stepped forward first, her solid figure almost frightening in the shadows. Aislynn held much respect for her courage and followed her companion wordlessly as they moved to the war room.

All three advisors were already present and already deeply involved in a discussion of their own.

"This would best be handled delicately," Josephine insisted to Cullen. "We can't just walk around showing brute strength with these people."

"I agree with Josephine, but disagree with the strategy," added Leliana. "If we just sent a few of my spies into—"

It was Cullen that noticed her first, "My lady," and a smile tugged at his lips. "Welcome back."

She felt a flush creep into her cheeks but she did her best to ignore it as she introduced their newest agent, "May I please introduce you to Vivienne, she is the Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais. And she has joined our cause."

The darkly skinned enchantress inclined her head gracefully at the three advisors, "It is a pleasure."

"Madam Vivienne, it is good to see you. I trust you all had save travels?" Josephine greeted her for the others, feeling the pressure of having another Orlesian political figure in their midst.

"The journey was pleasant, my lady Montilyet—that is your name, yes, darling?" the mage smiled winningly, "I would recognize those eyes anywhere. Please do greet your family for me."

Josephine nodded politely, "Of course, Madam." She then intervened for Aislynn, stepping around the table. "If you would come with me, you must be exhausted from the journey, no?"

"However did you know, my dear?"

"We shall have one of our people prepare you a room, right away, then."

The enchantress gave an encouraging smile to Aislynn and followed the ambassador out of the war room.

Leliana flashed an impressed smile at the elf, "Quite a group you're assembling, my lady Herald."

Aislynn's flush grew deeper, "I truly had nothing to do with this. She invited us to her party and offered the Inquisition her services." Shrugging slightly and wrapping her slender arms around herself, almost insecurely, "I thought her experience would be a credit. She has proven quite…"

"Opinionated?"

And the flush reached her ears, "Yes, but much more…knowledgeable than I had at first assumed. Her advice and her…opinions are not quite unfounded."

A breath of a chuckle escaped Leliana's lips, "She is a political mastermind; I will give her that credit. And I fear for Josephine's sanity now that another deeply impassioned politician is involved—and so closely, too."

"I am curious as to how the meeting with the Chantry mothers went," Cullen interjected the moment Leliana had finished speaking.

Cassandra was the first to answer, her rage for the entire situation revealing itself in a flurry of accented words, "The Chantry mothers would not speak with us. In fact, they turned to the Templars to protect the people from the Inquisition. And the Lord Seeker was there—" her face had turned a strong shade of crimson as she continued, much more heatedly, "He has gone _mad! _He outright denied the Inquisition and seemed to be seeking for _power._ The Lord Seeker I knew would never stand for such a thing. _Something_ is amiss."

Aislynn's lips quirked, "This is the abridged version. I heard much more colorful terms about the situation on the way here."

The Seeker almost glared at the elf, but her gaze softened when their eyes met, though the warrior woman was still too worked up to allow for a smile.

The Commander's brows knitted into a deep furrow, "What else did he say?"

Putting a hand on Cassandra's arm and giving her a reassuring gaze, Aislynn answered, "The Lord Seeker seemed to want to transform the order of the Templars, quite drastically. He mentioned making it a great force. It seems like something we should be looking into, if that is the case."

The Commander's expression was fierce, "That is indeed troubling…"

"We also received a personal invitation to meet with the mages at Redcliffe from Enchanter Fiona," Aislynn added. "The mages are desperate and the Templars appear to be in a great deal of trouble. I'm not sure that either side will be worth recruiting in their current state unless we're able to take a deeper look into the heart of the matter."

"Perhaps we should go to the Templar stronghold—"

"_Or_ Redcliffe," Josephine added adamantly as she stepped back into the room. "As you say, they appear desperate. And you received a personal invitation. It may be something to consider."

Before Cullen could respond to Josephine, Aislynn held up both her hands, "We've made contact. It's a start. We can only choose one, so you can either bicker about it all night or let me sleep on it and decide in the morning." She pinched the bridge of her nose, "We're running out of time and you've had this argument a hundred times before. No matter what facts you have, we need an answer." Her eyes sought theirs individually, "Meet me here at noon tomorrow."

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen watched her throughout the whole meeting. She was exhausted, partially due to their journey, but he knew it went deeper than that. The decision to recruit either the mages or the Templars rested in her hands alone, and she knew it. That she was able to keep her resolve, hold her composure, face them without even an ounce of intimidation was fascinating. He knew he would not be so level headed had he been the one in her position. And yet, she had that faint glimmer of insecurity in her eyes as her eyes met his once final time. _Or was that imagined?_

Part of him wanted to go to her, convince her to seek out the Templars. Even though he had left the Templars, he still felt a twinge of unease when it came to the arcane and, particularly, a residual amount of distrust where mages were concerned. The Commander had his reasons; and the memories of a time long gone still sent shivers down his spine when he thought of them. He had worked relentlessly to be where he was and yet he still struggled with the fear, the anger…

He had demons of his own to deal with.

Bidding Leliana good night, he stepped out of the war room and strode quietly down the village pathway to the outskirts. Just outside the village walls, the Commander stopped in his tracks at the movement of a shadowy figure to his left. But he recognized the deft motions, the small form, and he smiled softly,

"My lady," he greeted her, his voice soft. "It's late. You should be resting."

Aislynn laughed, a harsh, bitter sort of sound, "Honestly, Cullen, how can I be sleeping when I'm making such a decision tomorrow?"

Mortified by how insensitive he had seemed, Cullen stammered, "I—I apologize—I didn't mean to, that is…" he sighed, and his lips quirked in amusement. "You always do this to me—make me nervous."

"I know," she grinned wickedly. "It's fun. I've come to rely on it."

His brown eyes searched hers for a moment and then he asked, "Care to walk with me?"

The elf's luminous eyes lingered on him for a moment before answering, "I think I would care to walk, actually."

He couldn't help the way his heart pounded at her acceptance or the lopsided smile that stretched across his lips as the small elf crossed the short distance to be next to him. Glancing down a moment, Cullen couldn't stop the chuckle that followed—_she was barefoot._

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes with no particular destination in mind. Cullen left her alone with her thoughts—let her think them through, weigh the options. Her forehead was creased in careful consideration and the fingers of one hand played with her bottom lip. _Cute…_ the Commander thought, trying—though failing miserably—to avoid staring at her.

After a while, she sighed, feeling the need for a distraction, "Talk to me."

He stopped, midstride, her soft voice startling to him in the silence, "Excuse me?"

Her smile was roguish, even with her emotions shuttered behind carefully guarded eyes, "Commanders of Inquisitions can still do that, right? Talk? Converse?" She chuckled, "I know next to nothing about you, you realize that?"

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, "I…ah…it occurred to me, yes."

Aislynn's laugh was quiet, "I'm sorry." And when she turned to him again, the insecurity he had sensed in her around the war table was back. She distanced herself discreetly and murmured, "I understand if you would rather not. I'm sorry for taking your time, Commander. Thanks for the walk. It…helped." And she sprinted down the trail before he had a chance to respond.

Dumbfounded, he watched her go. _Maker's breath, what have I done?_ Panic mingled with his confusion and he called out to her, "Aislynn!" but she didn't seem to hear. Absolutely flummoxed, the poor man rubbed the back of his neck again, _I said something wrong—I completely ruined that…_ A great part of him wanted to go after her, but the other part of him feared he would only make things worse. He wasn't even completely sure what he had said—or not said—

_Andraste's flaming…_ he started to curse and then sighed heavily.

He took a step to go after her—he knew that he _should_ go after her.

But he didn't.

_**~oOo~**_

"You look troubled, lethallan," Solas murmured, standing beside Aislynn as she regarded her shooting pattern.

She turned to him with a smile, "Perhaps…" and then moved to pluck out her arrows from the target. "What would you do, Solas? Who would you choose?"

His expression was grim as he watched her take aim again and fire into the bullseye. "There is no correct answer. Either way is a means to an end."

Aislynn lifted a brow at him, "Pragmatist."

"Indeed," he admitted with a hint of a smile.

"Either way, the ultimate goal is to close the Breach. The Templars can dampen its power and the mages can enhance the mark's connection. Both are useful. Both are a means to an end, as you said. But I can only save _one_ group—not both." She released her last arrow and it missed the target, striking just high of the center. "That's what troubles me. I can only help _one_ of those groups. I'll align with one and inevitably the other will either fall to ruin or war against the group I choose. What is the Inquisition for if not to help people and end the fighting?"

The mage crossed his arms and waited for her to come back with her arrows before he spoke again, "Perhaps, the answer to your question has yet to be seen."

Aislynn slung her bow over her shoulder and gazed intently at Solas, "I hope you're right…I really do." Then she smiled before turning and making her way to the Chantry, calling back to him over her shoulder, "Wish me luck—fate can't wait forever."

_**~oOo~**_

"Are you _sure_ this is the course you wish to take?" the Commander asked, leaning over the war table and staring at her unswervingly.

"It is," Aislynn met his gaze unflinchingly. "Remember, this is not a decision—not just yet."

"Very well. I can make preparations for—" Josephine began, but the elf interrupted gently.

"That won't be necessary. I'll take Cassandra, Solas, and Varric with me. A smaller group will be less noticeable and will raise as few suspicions as possible."

Leliana nodded her agreement, "Very well. My spies will be in the Hinterland camps nearby if contact must be made."

"Good," Aislynn released a short breath. "We'll leave in the morning."

Cullen watched her go, watching her confidant steps, her squared shoulders. She was leaving again, a mere day after her arrival from Val Royeaux. How did she do it? His thoughts drifted to the previous night and the familiar pang of confusion wriggled into his mind. _We should…_I_ should fix this… before she leaves…_ and he thought again to follow her.

But just then a scout found him with another report, and once more, he didn't. He let her go.

_She'll be back. _He thought with a sigh. _She always comes back._


	16. Unexpected

_I've actually been dying to get to this chapter. Once we get past this little gem, then we'll start getting personal with all the other characters. Thanks again to everyone who favorited and followed this story—you guys are the best!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"What do you mean we're not expected?" snarled Cassandra. "Grand Enchanter Fiona invited us here personally."

"If she was expecting you, then she has told no one," the scout insisted. "However, we've arranged use of the tavern for negotiations."

"Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies," came a breathless call from several yards away. An elfin mage sprinted towards them and bowed politely as he came to a stop before the group. "Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn't yet arrived. He's expected shortly." Cassandra's face held no humor and the Herald's expression was no better for the mage stuttered quickly, "You…can meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona in the meantime," he motioned an offer for them to follow him.

Aislynn's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she and her companions stood together just inside the gates of Redcliffe Village. Something was terribly amiss. The rift that had opened at the time of their arrival had seemingly manipulated time, slowing down and speeding up the dimensions of their world; and now their invitation to discuss an alliance with the mages was forgotten. She watched as the Seeker dismissed the scout and the members of the Inquisition made to follow the elfin mage to the local tavern, the Gull and Lantern, to meet yet another twist to the ever thickening plot.

_Not all is as it seems…_

"You know, Redcliffe has a pretty rich history," Varric mentioned as they passed through the village. "The King of Ferelden lived here for a time, before he was King and he was conscripted into the Wardens, and all that."

Solas nodded, "There is much memory in the spirits dwelling in the Veil here."

"Makes sense. I mean, this town was overrun by the undead at one point. Turns out the Arl's own son was a mage and had been in league with a demon."

Aislynn's ears twitched, "What?" she glanced at Varric, "I don't remember that part of the story."

"The Arl was sick—dying, actually. And he had just come into his power as a mage. He made a deal with the demon to keep the Arl alive, but the thing ended up possessing him and unleashing an army of undead, every night, into the village. The Hero of Ferelden saved the town—and the boy, lucky git—"

"He lived? Do you think he's still here?" she glanced around, searching, though she knew the effort was futile.

The dwarf laughed at her excitement, "I doubt it, Ace."

She shook her head in silent wonder. Many stories had been told about the Fifth Blight but those people directly involved were rather tight lipped about it. She had always assumed it was because of how painful it was. Many had fought and died during that time. Families were torn apart, friends separated—so much pain. And yet, somehow, as she beheld the teeming village, life and joy had still managed to find a way back. Much of Redcliffe was rebuilt to its former glory—and _then_ some. She smiled at the grand griffon statue in the center of the village, dedicated to the Hero of Ferelden and her companions. As they passed, she traced her fingers over the granite plaque that held the names…

"I think Curly might have met her once or twice."

"Hm?" Aislynn blinked and turned her focus again to her rogue companion.

"Oh, the Hero. Before she was the Hero, of course."

Her brows furrowed slightly, "Curly?"

But the dwarf just chuckled.

_**~oOo~**_

The tavern was dark, unwelcoming. She blinked to adjust to the lack of lighting and her nose crinkled slightly at the smell of smoke and sweat. _Shuttered windows, quiet patrons…_Aislynn felt her heart race. _The perfect atmosphere for an anonymous murder…_ Careful steps led her across the uneven floor boards as she moved further into the room when a familiar voice stopped her short.

"Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition," the voice that had once pleaded with them in Val Royeaux for help was now cold, distant: Grand Enchanter Fiona. "What has brought _you_ to Redcliffe?"

Aislynn stepped forward, "I was hoping _you_ could answer that question, actually. After all, you sought us out in Val Royeaux and _did_ request that we speak with you here."

Fiona looked genuinely bemused as she shook her head, "You must be mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"Then you have a doppelganger, Grand Enchanter," responded Aislynn, dryly, crossing her arms, "for someone looking _exactly_ like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux, not two days ago."

The Enchanter's brows knitted together as she pieced the mysterious pieces collectively in her mind, "I…suppose it could be magic at work…but why would anyone…" The woman seemed to give up her contemplations as she sighed resignedly, "Whoever or _whatever_ brought you here, the situation has changed."

"Obviously," murmured Varric followed by an, "ouch!" as Cassandra elbowed him in warning.

"The Free Mages have already…pledged themselves…to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

Every eye in the Inquisition's group was upon the Grand Enchanter as they processed the information with equal parts of shock and disgust. Aislynn forced her expression to remain neutral as she battled with the thoughts and emotions running rampant through her. _Within two days' time, a new alliance begun… With Tevinter? They're asking for a slaughter… _Meanwhile, the Grand Enchanter was still speaking:

"As one indentured to a Magister…I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

The elfin rogue scoffed, keeping her voice low, "Are you _trying_ to get the mages killed? An alliance with Tevinter is a terrible mistake."

"All hope of peace died with Justinia," her expression sorrowful, Fiona justified her actions. "This…bargain with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we _had_ no choice. We are _losing_ this war. I needed to save as many of my people as I could…" her voice faded with her emotion, but the hardness in her eyes was not lost to the Herald standing before her.

Just then, the door to the tavern swung open again and a hooded man in fine apparel entered. His face held the weathered creases of a man who had been through much though his eyes reflected none of the weariness that such a face should reveal. Instead, they were calculating and so very cold. The man's voice greeted them cheerfully and his heavy, booted steps brought him to stand directly before Andraste's Herald, "Welcome, my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier."

"Agents of the Inquisition," Fiona announced, "allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

_**~oOo~**_

Alexius had not been what Aislynn was expecting—too amiable, too indulging… But she could not shake the feeling of unease as she looked into his eyes. It did not surprise her, then, to receive the warning note from his son, Felix, that, indeed, she _was_ in danger. The thought had crossed her mind that the warning might have actually been the bait, but yet, there she was, standing before Redcliffe's Chantry, gazing up at its grand spires as she had once done in Haven. _No answers without taking risks, I suppose…_she thought, almost bitterly. Crumpling the note and shoving it in a pocket, the elf took a deep breath and moved to open the door. Her companions were close behind, their weapons drawn. _Now or never…_

The moment the door opened, they were greeted by the flashing light from an open rift and the screeching of demons. Aislynn braced herself, her daggers flashing in her hands. In the center of the room stood a single mage, fighting close range with the demons materializing from the rift, bludgeoning those nearest with his staff. One by one he picked them off, almost effortlessly, and their forms seemed to evaporate into nothingness. As he finished off the last of his attackers, he turned to the group in the foyer with a cocky smile.

"Good, you're finally here," he took a moment to fix his dark, coiffed hair. "Now help me close this, would you?" asked the mage as casually as though they had been chatting over tea, right before swinging his staff about once more to attack another demon appearing just behind him. Without another word, the agents of the Inquisition sprang into action, dispatching the materializing demons with Aislynn at the fore, binding her mark with the rift and sealing it. A moment later there was a flash of light and it was gone.

"Fascinating…" the stranger mused, taking a few curious steps towards the elf. "How does that work, exactly?" and then he laughed, "You don't even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and then—_boom_—rift closes." While his tone held mostly amusement, he could not entirely hide the wonder in his expression as he regarded the slight woman with whom he was speaking.

Narrowing her eyes, Aislynn curled her left hand into a fist, hiding the sparks of green from his questioning gaze, "Who are you?"

The handsome mage chuckled, "Ah, getting ahead of myself, again, I see." Bowing with flourish, his robe swirling theatrically, he introduced himself, "Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?"

"Another Tevinter…" Cassandra shook her head disapprovingly. "Be cautious with this one."

"Suspicious friends you have here," he mocked lightly, his charming smile not wavering for a moment. He then continued, "Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be invaluable, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"I was expecting Felix to be here," Aislynn mentioned, pointedly, not bothering to hide the misgiving in her tone.

Dorian nodded, "Indeed. I'm sure he's on his way. He was supposed to give you the note and then meet us here after ditching his father."

"And why are you betraying your mentor?" she tilted her head to the side, "Some unresolved issue between the two of you?"

The smile faded and he responded in a low voice, "Alexius _was_ my mentor, meaning he's not any longer. Not for some time." He stepped closer, his voice insistent, "Look, you _must_ know there's danger— that should be obvious even without the note. Let's start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right! To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted _time_ _itself_."

"I've never heard of magic that controls time…" she gave token resistance, but doubt was in her eyes.

"Right…I'm sure you've _seen_—you must have—how the rifts slow some things down and speed other things up around them? Just here, in Redcliffe." Not taking her negation seriously, he explained, "Soon, there will be others just like them, and they will start to appear farther and farther away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable and it is unraveling the world."

The elf considered the man in front of her for a few moments as she weighed her options. He seemed honest enough, though she admitted she held less of a bias against the Tevinter Imperium as others had, having lived among a group of people that had survived for centuries being considered a pariah. They needed _someone's_ help in unraveling the web of secrets surrounding the mages' new allies. If that was what he was proposing, then perhaps she had no choice but to give him a chance.

"You're asking me to take a lot on faith," the elf sighed.

By now, Dorian's expression had become dangerously dark, "I know what I'm talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work." He raised a hand to stroke his chin in thought, "What I don't understand now is why he's doing it—ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

"He didn't do it for them," said another voice in the shadows and every eye turned as Felix stepped into the light.

Dorian's smile returned, "Took you long enough." He clapped the boy on the shoulder, before adding quietly, his expression growing serious, "Is he getting suspicious?"

"No," Felix said with some distaste, "but I shouldn't have played the illness card. I thought he'd be fussing over me all day…" he nodded acknowledgment to Aislynn and addressed her then. "My father has joined a cult, Tevinter supremacists, called the Venatori. And one thing is for certain, whatever he's done, he's done it to get to _you._"

"All this for me?" Aislynn's shock outweighed her willpower to remain stoic and it showed in her widened eyes. The absurdity of the situation dawned on her then too and she quipped, "And here, I didn't get Alexius anything…"

"Send him a fruit basket," Dorian responded without missing a beat, making the elfin lass smile. "Everyone loves those." And then he added seriously, "Now you know you're his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here and I want to keep it that way for now." His eyes grew serious as he finished, "But whenever you're ready to _deal_ with him, _I _want to be there. I'll be in touch." As he was walking away, fading into the shadows in the back of the Chantry, he called over his shoulder, "Oh, and Felix, try not to get yourself killed."

But the young man's expression was gloomy when he answered, "There are worse things than dying, Dorian…"

_**~oOo~**_

_Advisors:_

_The rebel mages have found themselves indentured to a Tevinter Magister name Gereon Alexius. He has found a way to manipulate time to gain their alliance and small rifts are opening in Redcliffe proving this discrepancy. A former apprentice of his and his son are leaking us information about his plans. Today, we received word that he wants to meet with me, alone, in Redcliffe Castle, of which he has assumed ownership since the removal of Arl Teagan. _

_This is most definitely a trap, but the situation here is dire. With magic such as this loose upon Thedas, it could very well destroy the world before the demons can. _

_Commander, a small troop may be necessary, or a few of Leliana's agents, actually, if the talks do not proceed as planned—or even to prevent them from being disrupted, as I'm sure he intends. Magister Alexius has joined a cult of Tevinter Supremacists called the Venatori and I fear they may play a part in the 'negotiations,' should things go sour. I've attached his invitation for your inspection._

_We stand ready to approach Alexius at your order._

_~Lady Lavellan_

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen read the letter and a grim expression settled on his features, "We don't have the manpower to take the castle…so, either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars."

"The letter from Alexius asks for the Herald of Andraste—by name. It's an obvious trap," harrumphed Josephine, peering over Cullen's shoulder at the note from Aislynn and the attached invitation.

"He's going to try to kill her," Leliana murmured.

Josephine rubbed her temples, feeling another round of bickering approaching, "Not this again…"

"Redcliffe Castle is impenetrable," Cullen insisted, still not believing what he was reading. "If she goes in there, she _dies,_ and we'll lose the only means we have of closing those rifts. I _won't_ allow it."

"And if we don't try to meet with Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile, foreign power on our doorstep. She is right to confront the situation." Leliana insisted, holding her hands behind her back as she considered the options.

Josephine's expression grew fierce, "Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught. An _Orlesian_ Inquisition's army marching into _Ferelden _could provoke a war." She shook her head, "Our hands are tied."

"They will remain a threat—and a powerful one—unless we act," the spymaster leaned over the war table and stared at the map, deep in thought. "Years ago, we were in this same position, but it was during the Blight…there is a secret entrance into the castle, meant as an escape route for the royal family. It is too narrow to send troops, but I could send some of my agents through."

"Too risky," growled Cullen. "Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the Magister."

"That's why we need a distraction—perhaps the envoy that Alexius wants so badly. We could let Aislynn proceed with his invitation," she suggested.

He narrowed his eyes in thought, brows furrowed. "Focus his attention on Lady Lavellan while we take out the Venatori…It's risky, but it could work."

A few more details were discussed and Leliana then composed her reply, sending it out to Aislynn at once with a trusted scout just ahead of a group of her finest agents.

Cullen had a great deal of misgivings about the situation, but kept them to himself for the remainder of the war meeting. It was more difficult to proceed without Aislynn present, but her letter had been most thorough and a plan had been constructed from her details. It seemed her mind was already made and he could not fault her decision, for the situation in Redcliffe did seem the direst…although, that is perhaps what troubled him the most. She would be the one in the most danger, facing the Magister and his agents. And he knew so little about the "allies" she had supposedly gained from the Magister's old apprentice and his son—they could possibly be a part of a grand scheme to lead her to her death. Either way, he was powerless to protect her; and, it bothered him, more than he cared to admit.

He moved to the window by the war table and gazed out at the moon, breathing a silent prayer to the Maker for her protection.

_Maker watch over her…and bring her back safely._


	17. Unraveling Time

_Another chapter I'm super excited about. If I could have introduced Dorian in the first chapter, I would have. Again—thanks for the favorites/follows from everyone and also the reviews from Elystaa and ashNfeathers! And now, dear readers—back to Redcliffe!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Leave her group behind? The man must have been crazy. Aislynn stared at the man who had greeted her with a mixture of disbelief and unfiltered insolence. After a moment, when she had regained a portion of her composure, she smiled winningly, "Well, they simply _must_ accompany me. You wouldn't deprive the Herald of Andraste of her attachés, would you?"

The blond and annoyingly suspicious doorman glared at her, but seemed to eventually capitulate and nodded for _all_ of them to follow him into the throne room.

Aislynn's eyes glanced surreptitiously at the two guards beside the doorman. They wore armor she did not recognize and decorative helmets that completely hid their faces. She did her best not to look behind her when she heard their boots turn in formation behind them as the group ventured into the great hall. _I cannot show weakness now…not just yet._

The great hall was dark and musty though torches were lit along the center leading towards the throne, behind which roared a massive fire. Stories that had once rang with pride for the beautiful hall of old seemed like empty whispers as she beheld what was hardly a shadow of what it had once been. Cold, lifeless, unwelcome—Redcliffe castle had become as empty as those inhabiting it. Even the warmth of the fireplace seemed inhospitable. And as Aislynn looked up to the dais and the throne upon it, she found that nothing could compare to the sheer enmity emanating from the man now seated thereon.

Beside the throne, stood Felix. His eyes met Aislynn's but he wisely kept himself still, the tension in the room too palpable and the plot too tenuous for any mistakes to be made.

"My lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived," announced the blond doorman, not bothering to hide his obvious distaste.

Alexius's smile was borderline iniquitous as he stood to greet them. "My friends, it's so good to see you again." The artificial smile wavered as he noted her companions, acknowledging them with less enthusiasm, "And your associates, of course…" But the man was a master of form, if anything, for his hospitable tone had returned by the time he finished speaking, "I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is…equitable…to _all_ parties."

From the shadows, the Grand Enchanter strode forward defiantly, "Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?" The look in her eyes was murderous as she glared at the Magister before her.

"Fiona," his voice held no room for dispute, "you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not _trust_ me with their lives."

Already, the situation was spiraling out of control—though the hostility was masked by forced civility. Aislynn interjected diplomatically before either party could retort, "Perhaps it would be best for Fiona to remain? Why not get straight to it, then, my lord Magister?"

"Very well…" he acquiesced, albeit grudgingly. "It is refreshing to meet someone so goal oriented." Alexius lowered himself again onto the throne, "The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and _I_ have them. So," and his tone grew sinister, "what shall you offer in exchange?"

Archly, the elf raised a brow at him and then proceeded to pretend to be more interested in her fingernails, raising one hand to the light as she casually responded, "I'd _much_ rather discuss your fascinating time magic, actually."

The Tevinter Magister stiffened, but his jovial tone replied, "I'm afraid I have _no_ idea what you mean."

"She knows everything, Father," Felix sighed, dropping the act of aloofness he had so coolly played.

Alexius's façade of pleasantness vanished instantly as he growled, "Felix, what have you done?"

Aislynn interrupted him before he could say more to his son, "The question is, what have _you_ done, Alexius? You wanted me here—now tell me why."

The malevolence in his tone was thick as he posed a question, enunciating his words carefully, slowly, "Do you know what you are?" He stood, adrenaline fueling his anger, "You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark—a gift you don't even understand—and think you're in control?" He spat at her, "You're nothing but a mistake."

"And the Divine's death?" she challenged him, unwaveringly.

"It was the Elder One's moment, and you were unworthy to even stand in his presence…"

"Father, listen to yourself," Felix moved quickly to the Magister's side. "Do you know what you sound like?"

"He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché that everyone expects us to be," said another voice, stepping into the light.

"Dorian…" the Magister rolled the name off of his tongue with familiarity. "I gave you a chance to be a part of this…and _you_ _turned me down_." He turned to his former apprentice now standing beside Aislynn and spoke further, "The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes…"

"That's who you serve?" the elf's eyes flashed in anger. "The one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?"

Ignoring the question, he maintained, "Soon, he will become a _god._" A light gleamed in his heartless gaze as he exclaimed, "He will make the world bow to mages once more—and we shall rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas."

"You can't involve my people in this!" shouted the enraged Grand Enchanter.

Dorian raised a hand to her, signaling for her to back down as he approached the Magister, his voice low, "Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen. Why would you support this?"

"Stop this, Father," pleaded Felix. "Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let's go _home._"

"No," Alexius turned to face his son, his visage softening considerably as he insisted, "It's the only way, Felix. He can _save_ you…"

"Save me?" the boy scoffed.

"There _is_ a way," Alexius continued. "The Elder One promised—if I undo the mistake at the Temple—"

"I'm going to _die,_" Felix said, harshly. "You need to accept that."

Beyond reason now, the Magister barked to his soldiers, "Seize them, Venatori. The Elder One demands this woman's life."

But the guards did not move. Instead, they gurgled and collapsed heavily on the stone floor while their own blood pooled thickly around their dead bodies. Leliana's agents materialized from the shadows, then, and boldly faced the desperate Magister. He was surrounded.

Aislynn and Dorian stepped forward and the elf faced him, her eyes flashing with determination, "Your men are dead, Alexius. It's time to end this."

A feral anxiety gripped the cornered Tevinter and he snarled at her, "You were a _mistake!_ You never should have existed." He grasped an amulet in his hand and began to summon its power.

Dorian's eyes flew open wide when he realized what the Magister was doing and he swung his staff out to counter the spell. Sparks flew from his staff, but an otherworldly vortex had already opened, sucking both him and Aislynn into a funnel of darkness.

_**~oOo~**_

_Stone floor…cold…dark…_ her head swam as she forced her aching body to stand, feeling strangely like she had when she had awakened as a prisoner so many long weeks ago. It took a few moments for her bleary mind to catch up, but she began to remember things... _Alexius was casting a spell but then Dorian…wait…where am I?_

"Blood of the Elder One!" cursed a male voice and she spun to face it. "Where did they come from?!" and suddenly two Venatori guards attacked.

Jets of fire arced across the room to the attackers and, before Aislynn had a chance to draw her weapons, the men were dead. Dorian, responsible for their demise, grimaced in annoyance and slung his staff once more over his shoulder.

Aislynn took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart and turned to the Tevinter mage. His countenance was thoughtful as he muttered, "Displacement…Interesting…" and then he caught her glance. The man faced her and explained, "It's probably not what Alexius intended. The rift he created must have moved us…to what?" The mage began to pace and he brushed a stray lock of hair back into place as he did, "the closest confluence of arcane energy?"

"The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall…" she added to his musings, feeling the tendrils of fear grip at her heart.

"Let's see…" he pondered aloud, halting in his steps to face her again, "if we're still in the castle then, it isn't…" Suddenly his eyes gleamed in excitement, "Ah, of course! It's not _where_—it's _when!" _An exuberant tone from the mage spewed the discovery to the astonished elf, "Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!"

Her head was spinning and she feared that, at any moment, she would collapse. Her hands reached for something solid behind her, but found nothing and she stumbled. Gallantly, he caught her, and held her arm solidly as her wild eyes sought his for answers, "Did he send us forwards or backwards? And how far?"

His winning smile seemed out of place in the gloomy darkness in which they stood, but he responded positively, "Those are excellent questions. We'll just have to find out, now, won't we?" But then, just for a brief moment, Aislynn saw her own doubt reflected in his eyes as he continued, "Let's look around, see where the rift took us. Then figure out how to get back," and he added, much to her dismay, "_if_ we can…"

"You…" she had to swallow to keep her voice from squeaking, "have a plan to get us back, I assume?"

He nodded his head a bit and reluctantly affirmed, "Well, yes, I have some thoughts on that. They're lovely thoughts—like little jewels," he exaggerated a teasing falsetto and flashed the elf a brave smile as she gingerly removed her arm from his grasp.

"Well…think _hard_, then," she encouraged. "That's the power of positive thinking, you know. Sometimes, it works." She shot him an arch smile, attempting to don her typical mask of sarcasm.

"You want me to _think_ us back to our proper time?" he glanced askance at her, feigning incredulity at her remark.

Aislynn shrugged, "Oh, on the contrary. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you. You'll just get worry lines."

"Dear god, anything but that!" The man harrumphed and added glibly, "Keep that up and we'll get along just fine, I think."

"Well, I'll be here all night," she quipped and Dorian laughed at her witticism.

_Here all night, indeed…_

_**~oOo~**_

Red lyrium glowed around them malignantly, like sinister torches from the Fade. She could feel the dark power as she passed, brushing her skin and sending chills down her spine. It seemed to be _growing_ throughout the dungeons through which she and Dorian passed. Aislynn's thoughts moved to the young mage they had found, locked in a cell full of the lyrium, muttering endlessly to Andraste. Perhaps the lyrium had been the cause of his madness—she could not tell. He was too far gone…

And then she saw him.

"Varric!" she leaped to the cell and rattled the bars.

"Andraste's sacred knickers…" he lifted his head and Aislynn's stomach churned at the sight of him. Eyes glowing red from the lyrium surrounding him and body gaunt, "You're alive…" he breathed in awe. As Aislynn fiddled with the lock on his cell, he stood and gripped the iron rails. "Where were you? How did you escape?"

"We didn't escape," Dorian explained. "Alexius sent us through time..." and he narrowed his eyes. "The future, it seems, judging by your response…and the state of this castle."

The lock clicked and Aislynn opened the cell door, releasing the dwarf. He staggered out of the enclosure and leaned forwards, hands pressed on his knees for support. "Everything that happens to you is weird, Ace," and he chuckled, a hollow sound to what it had once been—to what it _should_ have been.

She offered him a brave smile, "You might be right about that."

"I'm _always_ right," he grinned, "and when I'm not, I lie about it."

_That's more like it…_she smiled, but Varric hadn't finished. "So…why did you come back here? Not just to trade quips with me, I hope."

"We get to Alexius, and I just might be able to send us back to our own time," answered Dorian. "Simple, really."

But it wasn't simple. Varric explained what had happened during their year of "absence," and how the Elder One had marched his demon army in a huge invasion of the South. As it stood, the Elder One was the current ruler…of _everything._ And while Alexius was still present at Redcliffe, he was no longer in charge.

"But, if you want to take on Alexius, though, and fix this mess, I'm coming with you," Varric declared. "Let's go."

_**~oOo~**_

Cassandra was in no better shape when they found her. And while she adamantly insisted that she come with them, Aislynn could not help but fear for the state of her companions. They were visibly weakened, starved, brutalized by the Venatori and the Elder One's minions. _A year…this is what happens if we lose…_ Aislynn's heart pounded fiercely in her chest as they approached yet another door within the castle. She stopped suddenly, though, upon hearing voices just beyond.

A man…he was questioning someone… "You will _break_," he threatened after getting nowhere.

And Aislynn's heart nearly stopped when she recognized the answering voice, "I will _die_ first."

_Leliana!_

Unable to wait, Aislynn burst through the door—and that was all the distraction the spymaster needed. Her legs encircled her tormenter's neck and she growled, "Or _you_ will…" and she jerked her legs, severing his spinal cord and killing him.

Quickly, Aislynn crossed to the woman and cut her bonds as the spymaster gasped in shock, "You're alive…"

But the elf paid no mind. "You're safe now," she tried to assure her, but Leliana was beyond that.

"Forget 'safe.' If you came back from the dead, you're going to have to do better than 'safe.'" The red haired woman spat the word out distastefully. "You need to _end_ this!" She held her gaze for a time before asking in a lower voice, "Do you have weapons?"

For a moment, Aislynn could do nothing but stare at her face—her beautiful face—marred and battered nearly beyond recognition, save for her defiant blue eyes, now brimming with unbridled anger. The elf whispered, "Yes, we have weapons."

"Good," Leliana crossed to the other side of the room and collected her own weapons, taken from her during her captivity. "The Magister is probably in his chambers."

Dorian watched her, slightly astounded. "So…you aren't curious how we got here?"

"No."

"Alexius sent us into the future," he explained anyway, "This—his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be."

"I'm sorry for everything you've suffered," Aislynn whispered.

"We need to reverse Alexius's spell. If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening," Dorian assured her, confidently.

Leliana's expression hardened, "And mages always wonder why people fear them…_no one_ should have this power."

"It's dangerous and unpredictable. Before the Breach, nothing we did—"

"Enough!" she snapped at him. "This is all pretend to you—some future you hope will never exist. But I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real."

The words crashed into Aislynn's tumultuous soul like angry waves on a drifting canoe. The weight of her mission sank heavily upon her shoulders and she felt she would tumble to the floor.

Thedas in ruins, the Inquisition torn asunder and trampled beneath the forces of evil.

It was _real._

The Breach expanded and engulfing the Ferelden and Orlais. The Elder One reaching out his hand to the innocent peoples of the world, enslaving them, murdering them, and ruining them.

It was _real._

Her friends likely missing or dead…Josephine, Solas, Sera, Vivienne… _Cullen?_

_It was real…_


	18. Back From The Future

_The final chapter in Redliffe…for now. You guys are all fantastic! Over 5000 views! Thanks for the reviews for this chapter—I always look forward to reading them. Keep it up—and thank you so much for the support! (So, those of you who read this a few minutes ago and were like, "what's up with the stupid 3 right before keep it up?" -my computer translates hearts as just the number three. So...here's an imaginary heart () from me to you!)_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

The castle was beginning to seem familiar to Aislynn and she knew they were getting closer to their goal. Dorian, who had kept a chipper façade for most of the adventure, was beginning to become tense—Aislynn could sense more than see how nervous he was. After all, they would soon be confronting what she assumed was once a very close friend—aside from also being a former mentor. _Would he be able to kill him if it came to it?_ Aislynn wondered, beginning to dread the conflict herself. She felt her heart begin to beat faster within her chest as they crossed through the room that would lead into the great hall where Alexius would be waiting.

And he was.

The Magister's back was to them, but he did not turn when he heard their booted feet upon the stone behind him. Instead, he kept himself turned toward the roaring hearth fire, his shoulders drooped and his stance weary. Beside him, hunched beside the fire on an ornamental rug, was Felix. The young man was pale, almost translucent, and emaciated. Aislynn felt her heart break as she beheld him. Where once a youthful glow had reddened his cheeks and lit his eyes, there was now _nothing._The same eyes were soulless and empty and nothing of the boy he had once been was reflected in him now. He was a shell…

Aislynn called out when she was a few yards away, "I hoped I'd find you here…" she narrowed her eyes, "Do you realize what you've done? Have you seen what's happening? All this suffering…and for what?"

He turned his head slightly, but did not turn around to face her, his voice low and gravely, "For my country. For my son. But it means nothing now…" His voice grew quieter, "I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn't destroyed you." Alexius's head lowered and he whispered, "My final failure…"

Quietly, Dorian posed, "Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To _yourself_?"

"It doesn't matter now," Alexius sighed, wearily. "All we can do is wait for the end…"

The elf's expression darkened, "The end? What do you mean?"

A harsh chuckle escaped the jaded Magister's lips as he shook his head, "The _irony_ that you should appear now—of_ all_ the possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed…and what have I wrought?" Bitterly, he spat into the flames, "Ruin and _death. _There is nothing else." The bitterness in his voice faded once more into resignation as he finished, "The Elder One comes. For me, for you…for us all."

The unsheathing of a sword and a muffled gasp caught their attention and Alexius turned to see Leliana holding a dagger to the boy's neck. He did not resist her, but instead, slumped into her arms, his head rolling back against her shoulder. The spymaster's gaze was fierce as she stared down the Magister. He stopped short of his son, reaching a hand out in panic, "Felix!"

"That's _Felix?"_ Dorian asked. "Maker's Breath, Alexius, _what have you done?"_

Aislynn felt her blood grow cold when the man turned his head to face them. His face was haggard, far beyond what normal age should have done. Dark bags encircled his eyes, the evidence of many sleepless and fearful nights. But what truly caught her attention were his eyes. No longer were they filled with the fiery desperation she had seen in another time. No longer did they hold the fervent passion or blind belief. In some ways, his eyes were like the limp form of Felix. Alive, but not living. Orbs with soulless depths. Gereon Alexius was a _broken_ man.

"He would have _died, _Dorian…I _saved_ him!" and then his gaze moved to Leliana. "Please…don't hurt my son. I'll do anything you ask."

Aislynn stepped forward to intervene, keeping her voice low and even, "Leliana…let Felix go. He is innocent."

But the woman paid her no heed. "_No one_ is innocent…" she snarled and cut the boy's throat. She let him go, and the lifeless body of Felix slumped to the ground.

Horror registered on Alexius's face as he watched his son fall, reaching to catch him—but too late. "No…" he breathed, feeling the hammer of pain slam into his chest. His eyes turned again to Leliana and all the years of fighting, of rage, of pain came flooding back to him as he screamed at her, "No!" and with his staff, he sent out a wave of energy and light, blasting her back against the wall.

The others drew their weapons and Aislynn watched as Dorian's face paled even as he charged his staff to strike. Blinded now by pain, the Magister attacked the group with every fiber of his being and power in his body. There was no turning back now, no reasoning left to be done.

So, they attacked. And in the end, it was Dorian who was forced to deliver the final blow.

For a moment, he was just an apprentice, again, staring up at his mentor—all the admiration and respect and trust he had felt welling in his chest. But the feelings dissapated quickly, for the man he had known was gone. In that brilliant man's place was a hollow, bitter, and twisted old man who had let the world fall—no, he _sent_ the world—to its ruin. He let his fear and despair change him into a monster. Dorian cast his spell quickly, watching as the embers from his staff ignite on the Magister's clothing, as the life in his eyes extinguished like a snuffed candle, as he fell to the ground…as his once hero _died _like the dog he had become.

Dorian wrenched his eyes away and took a deep breath, then.

It was over.

Aislynn moved to stand beside him, an uncertain hand reaching for his shoulder, trying to gauge his reaction. The man let his hazel eyes meet hers and he whispered,"He wanted to die, didn't he…" a statement, not a question. "All the lies he told himself, the justifications…he lost Felix _long_ ago…and didn't even notice." Another deep breath, another long sigh, "Oh, Alexius…" the pity and the sadness in his voice touched a chord in the elf's own heart and she squeezed his am gently. Dorian patted her hand absently.

"This is still the future, Dorian. This is the man he _will_ become, but _not_ the Alexius we should be dealing with now. There may yet be hope that none of this will happen. " She hoped her words would assuage his sadness, but Dorian's expression did not change.

"I suppose that's true…" Turning to the body, he lifted the amulet off of the Magister's chest. "This is the same amulet he used before. I think it's also the same one we made in Minrathous. That's a relief…" He stood again and showed the jewel to Aislynn, deliberately shaking aside his feelings. "Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to open the rift."

"An hour?!" Leliana appeared before him, almost irate. "That's impossible. You _must_ go _now!"_

As if in response, the whole castle shook on its foundations as a terrifying roar pierced through the air, seeping through the walls and stone floor and causing the hearth fire to flicker as if about to be extinguished. Tiles fell from the ceiling and the columns supporting the roof seemed to be ready to crumble as the sound vibrated through the castle's core.

"The Elder One…" her eyes darkened in recognition.

Varric stepped forward then, "You have to hurry." And at Aislynn's questioning glance, he shook his head, "It's…bad."

There was silence that followed as he and Cassandra exchanged knowing glances. When he turned back, his eyes were sorrowful, but determined. "We'll hold the main door. Once they break through, it's _all you_, Nightingale," he addressed Leliana by her given nickname and she nodded in response to his statement.

"No!" Aislynn shook her head, feeling her stomach churn and throat constrict with unshed tears, realizing then what they meant to do. "I can't let you do this—I can't just let you _die._"

Leliana scoffed, but not unkindly, "Look at us, Aislynn—we're already dead. The _only_ way we live is if this day never comes." Varric and Cassandra turned away, together, and exited the doors of the great hall, closing them securely as Leliana backed away from the dais. "Cast your spell, Dorian. You have as much time as I have arrows…" and she turned away quickly, moving fluidly to the other side of the room.

Dorian grasped Aislynn's arm and pulled her away, "Time is of the essence. Hold this," he passed her the amulet, "while I focus. And wish me luck," the man flashed her a half-hearted grin just before his hands—and the amulet—were suddenly engulfed by a supernatural, emerald aura. She gasped, feeling the magic encase her own hands like a cool mist. The mage cursed, "It's a bloody puzzle, this…but I won't need an hour. Just—just hold still."

Sounds of battle just beyond the door startled the elf and she tensed, her breaths coming faster, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Her gaze swept across the room to the door—a flash of light brightened the doorframe through the spaces between the floor and ceiling and she could see shadows moving midst the glow of a sudden fire. "Maker take you!" she heard from Cassandra and a scream from what she thought was a demon. She heard Varric's Bianca, the thud of the bolts and hisses of pain from those on the receiving end. And then the sounds grew louder, more fierce. Tears streamed down her face as the dwarf's voice echoed, "I'm out of bolts, Seeker!" And then her answering scream of pain. Their voices were lost in the ensuing scuffle and a sob tore from Aislynn's throat.

_Dead…they're dead…_ she felt more tears cloud her vision and she forced herself to remain in place.

"I'm almost done…" Dorian said, gritting his teeth in concentration.

Leliana steadied herself, nocking an arrow, "Though darkness closes…I am shielded by flame…" she whispered a prayer, pulling the string to anchor position by her cheek. A force crashed against the door. Soon, it would break. Another resounding crash—the stone exploded into the room and monstrous demons entered, tossing the bodies of her friends aside as though they were but toys. Taking a steadying breath, Leliana released an arrow at one demon, with another arrow nocked and ready almost before the first one struck, "Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side…" Her bowstring sang as arrows flew across their room, deadly, accurately into their targets. Suddenly an arrow from beyond the door flew in and struck Leliana and she staggered backwards.

Aislynn almost couldn't help herself. She was sobbing by then, and made a motion as though to run to Leliana, but Dorian barked, "You move, and we _all die!_" Her eyes were wide as she turned to look into his own. She could hear Leliana fighting, the shouts of her attackers as they went down. She heard when the bard screamed the moment they caught her. She heard the knife that was meant to slice her throat unsheathed from its scabbard. She heard her struggles. She _heard_—

Suddenly, the rift was open . Aislynn wrenched her gaze to the rift, trying to keep from seeing what was waiting in the hall, just at her feet. _Don't look back…don't look back…_ The elf reached for Dorian's hand and he grasped hers quickly, holding on to her for dear life as they stepped forward and into the open rift.

_**~oOo~**_

When Aislynn opened her eyes, she was back in the Great Hall, with glowing torches in the hallway and a roaring fire, and _everyone—_Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Dorian, Alexius, and Felix—was there. _Alive._

Dorian was the first to recover, his cocky voice addressing the stunned Magister, "You'll have to do better than that."

Alexius backed away, fearful, and then, defeated, he dropped to his knees, letting his head hang in shame. Aislynn glared at him, all the fear and hurt and anger still fresh in her mind, "You put aside all claim to Redcliffe, and we let you live…though, honestly, after what I've seen…I'm not sure you deserve it."

"You won," he admitted, tiredly. "There is no point in extending this charade…" His eyes moved to his son and he whispered his name, "Felix…" The pain he knew would come, the cure he knew he would not find, and the realizationg that he had failed moistened his dark eyes.

The young man knelt beside his father and grasped his arm, "It's going to be all right…"

Alexius, his voice thick with unshed tears, shook his head, "You'll die…"

"Everyone dies," he said, but not unkindly, and the Magister dropped his sorrowful gaze again as his son embraced him. A few short moments later, they stood together, silently, and faced the Inquisition's soldiers, Alexius letting them take him into their custody peacefully.

Aislynn watched him go and could not help the smirk on her face as Dorian sighed, "Well, I'm glad that's over with—" but his voice was drowned out by the uniform pounding of booted feet on the stone floor as Ferelden soldiers marched into the Great Hall, their armor glinting in the firelight. They turned together and formed two columns, standing at attention. Dorian's expression darkened as he amended his statement, "Or not…"

Aislynn's eyes widened but she could not keep the smile from her face when she recognized the man for whom the grand entrance heralded: Alistair. _King Alistair,_ she had to correct herself with a slight grin as she watched him approach. The King did not see her, however, as his sole focus was directed on one person whose form seemed to be shrinking by the moment.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," he began, "imagine how surprised I was to find out that you had given Redcliffe Castle to a Tevinter Magister. Just try—humor me," he insisted rather coldly.

The woman stuttered, bowing ashamedly before him, "King Alistair…"

"Especially since I'm sure Redcliffe Castle belongs to _Arl Teagan…_" his eyes narrowed as he gazed directly at the quivering woman.

"Y-your majesty, we never intended—" she began, but he did not let her finish.

"I _know_ what you intended," he growled. And then he sighed, his voice soft, "I wanted to help you, but you've made it _impossible._" The King hardened his voice again for what he knew was coming, saying the words that he knew the Enchanter feared most, "You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

She shook her head, looking as lost as she felt, "But…we have hundreds that need protection. Where will we go?"

Aislynn chose that moment to step forward and intercede for Fiona, "I should point out that we _did_ come here for the mages to help close the Breach."

Fiona's eyes were hard as she glared at the elf, "And what are the terms of this arrangement?"

"Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you," Dorian said, crossing his arms, but with just as much steel in his eyes as were in hers. "The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?"

"I've known a lot of mages," came another voice at her side and she felt her heart warm at the familiarity, the _life_ in its tone, though the speaker intended caution. "They can be loyal friends, if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions, but still…loyal. Granted, those bad decisions lead to shit being blown up, you know, like Chantries." Varric shrugged, quite blatantly referring to Anders—an old companion of Hawke's in Kirkwall.

"Conscript them," Cassandra suggested, "They have proven that they cannot be trusted, but we still need their aid."

With equal parts resignation and caution, Fiona addressed Aislynn again, "It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer…"

Aislynn took a moment before answering. The whole reason for this war was for the mages' freedom. And while she believed in honoring their struggle, she had little reason to trust them with it. Though they had been deceived, they still willingly put themselves in the hands of a foreign Magister, allowing him to take control of a Ferelden Arl's Castle. That kind of decision was _asking_ for a war—on a completely different front and a completely different scale. So instead, Aislynn suggested a middle ground. Not freedom, not quite conscription.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona, I cannot offer you full freedom after the events of today. However, I cannot with a good conscience conscript you into the Inquisition." All eyes in the room were upon the elf as she continued, "I can, however, offer this. Join with us, willingly. You will be placed under a small measure of Templar guard until the Breach can be closed. At which point, we can discuss the terms of your freedom." She gazed Fiona directly in the eyes, "I'm giving you a chance to prove that you deserve it, even after this."

Hope flashed in the depths of the woman's gaze, "That is a generous offer. Will the others within the Inquisition honor it?"

"The Breach threatens _all_ of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided, now," Aislynn insisted. "We cannot fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support. But I will not force you to give it."

King Alistair, who had been fighting the urge to question Aislynn, interjected, "I'd take that offer, if I were you. One way or another, you're leaving my kingdom."

"We accept," Fiona nodded, relief flooding over her tired features. "It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed." She smiled thankfully at Aislynn, "And you will not regret giving us this chance."

The mage walked away, keeping her head held high. Aislynn watched her for a moment longer before turning her smiling gaze to the King. He chuckled and approached her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"It figures I'd find you fighting another freedom cause," he pulled back to look at her. "You've grown—I distinctly remember Karia telling you we'd have to lock you up in a cell for that kind of offense."

She laughed at his nonsense, "It's been a year. I can't have changed _that_ much."

He cocked his head, a habit that her cousin had always found adorable, but Aislynn found rather dorky, "So you've joined with the Herald of Andraste?"

"It's worse than that," she admitted, removing the glove from her left hand and showing him the mark. "I _am_ the Herald of Andraste."

Alistair took a step back, "_What?"_

Nodding, Aislynn met his gaze squarely again, "Still want to throw me in that dungeon?"

"Has Aiden—"

"Already found me," she sighed. And then looked around, "Where _is _Karia, anyway?"

The king combed his hands through his hair, a habit he had never quite gotten rid of, still trying to process the information, but answered her question, "She's actually taken a bit of a trip to Weisshaupt. Personal mission—she found some leads for a cure for…well…" he shrugged his shoulders, "for being a Warden." Alistair smiled again, this time softly, "She'll be glad to know you're all right."

"Send her my love," she said, her eyes warm. "I want to see her—soon. The first moment she gets back."

He chuckled and shook his head adamantly, "As her husband, I get dibs. How does the _second_ moment sound to you?"

"Deal."

Another matter caught his attention and he embraced the elf one more time, "It was good seeing you again, Aislynn." As he walked away, his royal guard taking place around him, he called out to her, "I'll send word to Karia—do try not to get killed with all your…heraldy…uh…business!" and he waved goodnaturedly, eventually disappearing through the great doors.

She watched him go, missing the silly man already. He'd become sort of a "favorite uncle" to her through the years since they'd met. She had known Karia for quite some time longer, keeping in touch through the years, mostly due to Aislynn's mother…

"So…" Varric said, suddenly at her side and rocking back and forth on his heels, "you and the king?"

"Yeah…we go way back," she said mysteriously, chuckling at his raised eyebrows. After a moment, she admitted, "Actually, we're good friends. I'm his wife's cousin."

"Well…" the dwarf said, completely taken aback, "…shit."


	19. The Thing With Feathers

_Yes, I borrowed from Emily Dickinson. ;) And Monty Python. Trust me, it's in there. _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

She woke up screaming the first night back in Haven, covered in a cold sweat and panting as though she'd just been running. Several of the guards had burst through her door a few moments later, swords drawn, ready for a battle; but, she had sent them away with profuse apologies and a lame excuse about a mouse on the floor. Still shaking, the elf donned some warm clothes and slipped silently out into the night.

The nightmares were so _real, _so _vivid,_ as though she were reliving the future they'd seen in Redcliffe all over again. _If we fail…_the consequences laid heavily on her soul like a mountain of stone, the realization so intense that she struggled even to breathe. So much of the future rested on her shoulders. So many lives depended on her success. _One wrong move, one bad choice, and he wins, whoever he is. This Elder One. One mistake and they could all die. It will be my fault…They could all die because of me…_

Aislynn slumped against the wall of the village and sank down onto the cold earth. She brought her knees up under her chin and buried her face in her arms, allowing herself to give in, for just a moment, to the onslaught of emotions tearing through her being. Sobs racked her body as rivers of tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking into her sleeves.

_I can't do this…_ a part of her screamed. _I'm no hero… I'm just an _elf! _Why me?_

The rational part of her mind protested weakly, _Everything happens for a reason. I have the mark for a reason. Who will help them if I don't? If I give up? No one._

Fear and doubt retorted to the logical response, _Cullen can lead them; and Leliana is resourceful. She will come up with a solution. Josephine can garner support for research—and then there are the mages—_

_Yes, the mages…allied to close the Breach—to help _me_ close the Breach. I can't just back out now. _

And then, the memories of the horrors she had witnessed in Redcliffe came crashing into her mind once more as even more inconsolable sobs racked her slender body. The images of what would come if the Elder One were given the opportunity to attack. She saw the red lyrium, the dead bodies, the tortured souls, her dead and dying friends, the burning cities, the crumbled castles—the hopelessness and the despair. It all came down to one variant—one probable solution—one stinging truth:

_If…_**I**_…fail._

Hiccupping sniffles made her slight frame shake as she tried to calm herself and control her breathing. Her eyes moved to the flaring green light in the palm of her hand and she swallowed back the bile of disgust she felt rising in the back of her throat. Disgust, not towards the mark and neither towards the situation—

But for _herself_.

Tugging her sleeve over her hand, she wiped her eyes dry and took a few deep, steadying breaths.

_I can't give in. I won't give in. Creators help me, but I can't leave now. Not when we're so close to closing the Breach…not when there's still hope…_

A ghost of a smile traced her lips as an old poem she had heard—from none other than the Hero of Ferelden—began reciting itself in her mind:

"_Hope is the thing with feathers__  
><em>_That perches in the soul,__  
><em>_And sings the tune without the words,__  
><em>_And never stops at all,_

_And sweetest in the gale is heard;__  
><em>_And sore must be the storm__  
><em>_That could abash the little bird__  
><em>_That kept so many warm…"_

And, suddenly, she realized, _that_ was the answer she had been seeking. The struggle would not be overcome by her prowess in battle or even her wit or her charm. It would not be conquered through her diplomacy and sophistication. In fact, she had very little to do with the equation _except _that she gave them _hope._

Aislynn stood and glared determinedly at the Breach in the sky. She would be the thing with feathers, the candle in the corner, the flower in the garden. Not because of her greatness—no, quite the opposite—but because the people required a _sign_. They had so much strength in them that they did not realize, but she hoped they would see, given time.

And until then, she would be there—their Herald of Andraste. She would fight for them, bleed with them, rejoice for their victories and mourn for their losses. She would stand in the gap until they could see for themselves what she saw in them: that they were survivors; that they were _strong_.

_**~oOo~**_

A pair of hazel eyes watched the Herald of Andraste from afar. They saw her struggle, saw her tears, and watched as the sobs shook her thin form. And then, they witnessed the _transformation_.

Dorian felt as lost as she had appeared at that moment, curled into a fetal position on the ground. He could not return to Tevinter. He no longer had Alexius as mentor. He was alone—floundering for purpose and grasping at nothing.

That is, until _her._

The moment she brushed the dirt from her clothes, clenched her hands into fists, and stared down the Breach as though by sheer willpower she could overcome it—he saw it. _She_ stood for something—something that gave her strength enough to endure through the enormity of the situation, to press on under the weight of the world, to fight with unwavering spirit. She was indomitable.

And he _wanted_ that—_whatever _it was she had.

Dorian's eyes followed her as she followed the village trail back to her room above the tavern and a warm smile spread across his face.

_Perhaps, he would stay after all…_

_**~oOo~**_

Commander Cullen could not have been more pleased with the report he had received earlier that morning regarding the alliance with the mages and the execution of the Herald's plan at Redcliffe. For once, he, Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine had nothing over which to bicker aside from the usual inner workings of the Inquisition's base at Haven. Everything had gone according to plan. He felt that what she offered the mages was fair and was almost a bit relieved that she had not entirely conscripted them, yet quite satisfied that they would be under a measure of Templar scrutiny while confronting the Breach. She had handled herself well and he was more than impressed—he was _elated_.

Mostly, he admitted, because of selfish reasons.

Just then, the door of the Chantry swung open and his heart leapt when he caught sight of her. She walked with a casual sway, confident upward tilt to her chin, and eyes bright with a fire he had not seen in them before she left. He smiled and did not even bother to try to hide it.

Aislynn neared the group of waiting advisors and Seeker Cassandra and smiled, as well—but _not_ at the Commander. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw another man approach—dark hair, tanned skin, perfectly curled mustache, flashing eyes, tall, gallant, handsome…and a Tevinter mage. She greeted _him_ first,

"Dorian, you're still here."

The mage chuckled and leaned his shoulder against a wooden beam, teasing unabashedly, "Where else would I be? The way these four bicker is so amusing, I was actually considering selling tickets for it. And then quite suddenly they _agreed_ on something, so I had to stay and see what it was."

Aislynn giggled and Cullen had to swallow the uncomfortable feeling roiling in his chest. _Was that…jealousy?_ He cleared his throat, "Well, turns out we _do _agree, at least on how you handled the mages. I'm glad there will be Templars available when they actually face the Breach. Possession is a possibility with the influx of demons."

Cassandra's smile was wide and proud as she confirmed, "I support your decision completely. While I feel they deserve full conscription, perhaps your choice suits the situation better."

"The voice of pragmatism speaks," mocked the mage, lightly.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but was not baited by his jibe. She affirmed, "In the end, closing the Breach is all that matters."

The Spymaster flipped through the pages of Aislynn's report on the events at Redcliffe and her eyes narrowed. "We should look into the things you mentioned happening, things you saw in the dark future. A demon army? And—in the paragraph where you list what future-Varric tells you—the assassination of Empress Celine?" Leliana's voice was low, "These are all very serious matters."

"Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do," Dorian interjected. "Orlais falls, the Imperium rises—chaos for everyone," and the elf had to stifle a laugh at his varying, amusing tones.

Cullen couldn't stop himself from glaring at the mage. "One battle at a time," he growled, and then softened when he saw Aislynn's startled expression. "It's going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let's take this discussion to the war room." His eyes meeting Aislynn's, he addressed her directly. "Join us?" A hopefulness lightened his tone, "None of this means anything without your mark, after all."

She was taken quite aback by the offer. Before, she had always been required to be present, required to participate, and she had done so willingly, but bore no false expectations—she was no commander, nor was she a very qualified diplomat or spymaster. Compared to their talents, she amounted to nothing, just a rogue. Just an elf. The only distinguishing feature was her mark, and marks—even special ones—were rather useless in planning such things. After a moment of stunned silence, she was able to stammer, "I…I would be honored to help with the plan."

"If we are all ready, perhaps we can continue there now," Josephine suggested with a pleased smile.

Dorian twirled a corner of his mustache, "I'll skip the war council, but I _would_ like to see this Breach up close, if you don't mind."

Aislynn met his gaze evenly, "Then you're…staying?"

He answered her question with no less than she expected—a sardonic cheerfulness that caused her brow to arch in amusement and a smile to spread unbidden across her lips, "Oh, didn't I mention—the South is so charming and rustic." The sarcasm dripped off of his words like molasses as he deadpanned, "I adore it to little pieces…"

The elf met his gaze with a rather smug smile, "I'm rather surprised at this, actually…"

His gaze darkened as he explained, "We both saw what could happen—what this Elder One is trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It's my duty to stand with you. That future will _not_ come to pass." His normally jovial tone had lowered with impassioned insistence.

Aislynn could not hide the pleasure in her expression, "Good…I'm glad. After all, there's no one else I'd rather be stranded in time with, anyway. Future or present."

"Excellent choice," he said with one of his suave grins, but then added all too quickly, shattering his winsome façade, "But let's not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?"

Cullen found he couldn't take any more of their banter. He broke in almost before Dorian had a chance to finish speaking, "I'll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing the mages will be enough to grant us victory…"

The five of them turned to enter the war room, but Aislynn lingered behind a moment and locked eyes with Dorian. He smiled at her—not the sarcastic mask, but a genuine one that spoke volumes where he could not. She responded in kind and then waved back at him as the war room doors shut behind her.

_**~oOo~**_

The sky was dark, a bleak sort of gray that only magnified the glow of the swirling green mists of the Breach. Signs of battle still littered the scorched ground and wafted on the chilled breeze. Aislynn's hand was trembling as the mark on her hand responded to the energy around her, expanding and contracting as it once had so many long weeks ago when she had first stepped from the Fade. The pain was a dull throbbing now, rather than the piercing, shooting pain that had once nearly disabled her entire arm.

Beside her stood Cassandra and Solas, their eyes watchful as they approached the Breach. Behind them were several rows of mages, faces grim and eyes resolute midst the presence of the chaotic ruins.

Aislynn regarded the mark on her hand, feeling fear grip her stomach. Swallowing back her doubt, she nodded to Solas and Cassandra and continued towards the Breach—alone. The Seeker and the elfin mage moved then to address the awaiting mages.

"Mages," Solas called out to them, his voice rising above the building winds, "Focus past the Herald." He held up his staff, calling to him their attention, "Let her will draw from you!"

The elfin lass stared up at the enormous tear in the sky and she felt the beating of her heart quicken and her breaths come shorter, harder. The energy surrounding the tear acted as almost a shield and she fought through the resistance until she was beneath the Breach. Her memory recalled the conversation she had with Solas some time ago, hearing her small voice in her mind, _Do I have a chance?_ And his riddled answer, _Perhaps, perhaps it will kill you… then again, perhaps not…you are not an ordinary person…_ She could die—she could feel it. If the combined power of the mages infusing the mark on her hand were not enough, the energy needed to join with the rift would exhaust her own body's energy. What would happen to her then?

But none of that mattered. Her face contorted into a grimace as she stood directly beneath the Breach, gazing into the abyss. Slowly, she raised the mark on her hand, feeling the energy beginning the surge, the throbbing beginning to expand and become that familiar pain. She closed her eyes, _willed_ the mark into life, _willed _it to connect with the Breach.

And it did.

Aislynn's screams of agony were lost amidst the rushing winds as the mages' power infused her mark and the joining between the rift and key lit the valley with a blinding miasma of sheer energy. Rooted in position, the elfin lass felt the force intensify, felt it channel through her entire being. She was a conduit—simply a medium for the massive forces as they flared and combined. She did not know how much longer she could stand it—the _pain_. It ripped through her person as though she were being torn apart from the inside out. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she felt her knees begin to buckle.

Then, the Breach exploded.

Everyone within a hundred meters was flung backwards by the wave of light and energy radiating from the great rift. Cassandra and Solas tumbled backwards into the ranks of mages, floundering to right themselves after having the breath knocked from them. The Seeker spluttered and scrambled to her feet, shoving her way past the ranks of men and towards where Aislynn had been—where the Breach had been—and where they were no longer. Panicked eyes scanned the dusty ground for signs of her friend where she had been standing not but a few minutes previous.

But out of the corner of her eyes, several yards away, she spied a faint, green glow and she _ran_ to it.

Aislynn's slender form was lying motionless in the dust, covered with rubble from when the Breach burst. Quickly, the Seeker brushed the dirt and rubble from the elf's still body and turned her over, hands gentle even in her alarm. She hovered over the limp form, searching for signs of life. Cassandra feared that she had died and the horror that gripped her heart was almost more than she could bear.

"Aislynn…" she whispered harshly, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

Solas reached her then and his jaw dropped at the look of devastation in Cassandra's eyes. "Is she…" he began, but could not finish. Nor could he bring himself to look.

It was then that Cullen broke through the ranks of Templars. "No, no, no…" he murmured, dropping to his knees beside the girl and cradling her in his arms. Cassandra had retreated to stand aside with Solas, watching the Commander as he checked for a pulse, for a breath—_anything—_and found nothing.

Brushing the unruly strands of auburn hair from her face, Cullen then cupped her cheek with his gloved hand. _It's my fault…_he thought bitterly, moisture stinging his eyes as he fought against the rampant grief tearing at his heart. _I should have _done_ something…anything else…_

He almost didn't hear the soft moan that escaped her lips, the flutter of her eyelids as she neared wakefulness.

_Almost._

His honey brown eyes searched her face, desperate for another sign, "Aislynn?"

Emerald eyes slowly focused on his face and she smiled—ever so faintly. The lass coughed and her raspy, almost inaudible voice was music to his ears as she teased, "I'm not dead yet."

His smile was full, triumphant as he held her tightly in his arms.

_She lived._


	20. Brief Celebration

**_NEWLY EDITED CHAPTER** :) It needed to be done. Still borrowing "Rocky Road to Dublin,"-or Denerim - love that jig! ;) Thanks to Wildfire99 for the help! This should flow much better now._

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

She hadn't expected to wake up at all, let alone in his arms.

Nor had she expected the tumultuous applause and roaring cheers from the soldiers and mages who had witnessed her victory.

The Herald of Andraste had accomplished the unthinkable. No longer was she just the "Herald." She had become their _hero—_their _champion._

Watching the people's faces—the soldiers, the mages, the villagers—gathered around the steps of Haven to welcome her back brought the moisture of thankful tears to her eyes. _I don't deserve this,_ she thought, overwhelmed by their gratitude. _If only they knew how close I came to leaving…they'd despise me…_

Beside her stood Cassandra, tall and proud, her dark eyes taking in the multitude of people assembled. _This_ was what they had always wanted—always dreamed of—for the Inquisition. It had always been this—a group of people united under one cause, one purpose. Little did they know during the Inquisition's inception that their eventual leader would be an _elf._

Cassandra felt her lips quirk into an ironic smile. _Leader?_ She thought about the implications of the word, what it would mean for the Inquisition, the advisors…for _Aislynn._ She wondered how the little elf would accept being thought of in such a way. Never once had she shirked her duty, yet she always seemed rather insecure being the center of attention. While being firm in her decisions, she never sought opportunity to lead. Then again, she never had to. Everything had been thrust upon her—rather suddenly, at that.

And, yet, here they were—in the midst of a village cheering her name and praising the Maker. Whatever differences they had were temporarily set aside. For the moment, they were safe. And, for once, the ragtag group of advisors, newly acquired agents, recruits, soldiers, mages, stray Templars, and villagers were the _Inquisition. _

The Seeker made a mental note to speak with the other advisors about her plans and ideas concerning the future of the Inquisition. She knew they would support what she had in mind completely.

Now, if she only knew what _Aislynn_ would think about her proposition…

_**~oOo~**_

"Back to normal, yeah?" Sera crossed her arms, her legs sprawled casually on the steps of the Chantry. "It's all over with, innit? This nasty rift business?"

Varric wagged a finger at her, "You should never use 'normal' when referring to Ace. It's not in her vocabulary."

The blonde elf snickered, "Well, duh—just look at _you._ Talking to your crossbow and whatnot."

He retorted calmly, "And this from the kid who steals people's breeches for fun."

Another voice piped in, "You steal people's _breeches?_" Dorian faked alarm. "Well, I certainly hope you don't _wear _them—or do you? Good god, and with _that_ blouse?" He 'tsked' a few times and shook his head, "That just won't do; it won't do at all." Laughing eyes looked her up and down in mock disapproval.

Miffed, Sera stuck her tongue out at the mage and stomped away, "Bloody git…" she muttered and then suddenly cast a roguish glance back at him before disappearing into the crowd of villagers.

Strangely enough, that one mischievous glance unsettled him more than her angry face had.

The mage and the dwarf watched her go, both chuckling softly to themselves. Finally, after a moment, Varric patted him on the shoulder and sighed, "Nice knowin' you, Sparkler. Keep your belt on tight tonight."

"You don't think she'd really…"

"Oh, heck yeah."

"Damn."

_**~oOo~**_

It was a celebration—the people had spared no expense to commemorate the Herald's victory. Smells of roasted duck and turkey wafted through the streets, making the Commander feel almost homesick. Sounds of laughter and easy-going banter from his troops with their comrades filled his ears and reminded him of the playful clamoring of his brother and sisters so many years ago in what felt like a completely different world. A frown touched his lips thinking back to those days. He had been a completely different person then. And he wasn't so sure he liked the man that he had become since then.

A soldier called his attention and he turned to catch the proffered apple, waving a hand in thanks at the young man. Cullen took a bite and continued his stroll through the small town. He had never seen them look so…_hopeful._ The brightness in their eyes, the lightness in their steps—they had needed this victory so desperately.

And, yet, there was still so much left to be done.

From the center of the village, a minstrel started to strum a lively tune and a few voices followed along, beginning to hum, and then eventually to sing the lyrics. He recognized the Fereldan jig and a faint smile touched his lips. Others around him clapped as a few people began to twirl and dance. He meant, then, to walk away, but then someone caught his eye and his slight smile broadened as he watched her. Aislynn flitted to where the others were dancing, dragging a protesting Josephine behind her. However, once they reached the town square, the Antivan dropped her pretenses and let the elf link arms with her for the jig.

"_On a merry summer's day, from me home I started,  
>Left the girls I knew nearly brokenhearted,<br>Saluted me father dear, kissed me darlin' mother,  
>Drank a pint o' beer, me grief and tears to smother,<br>Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,  
>Cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin,<br>In a brand new pair of brogues, go rattlin' o'er the bogs,  
>Frightening all the dogs, on the rocky road to Denerim.<em>

_One, two, three, four five."_

Others joined the reel and the remaining onlookers clapped to the beat. Cullen watched the elf's bare feet as she skipped and twirled, fleetly and gaily, to the quick, lilting tune. Her auburn hair was down, taken out of her typical ponytail. Each time she spun, her long, loose curls flared out like fire and he felt drawn to said flames like a moth.

She caught his eye and winked roguishly at him and Cullen felt his face flush. _Staring again…_ he realized, yet couldn't quite bring himself to stop. Another twirl, another partner change, and she flashed him one more of her impish grins, waving her hand at him, hoping to draw him into the dance. He smiled at her, but very discreetly, pulled deeper into the crowd, hoping she would not act upon her invitation.

So, quite naturally, she did.

Breaking away from her current partner, she skipped to where Cullen was trying, unsuccessfully, to back away and grabbed his gloved hands. "Come on," she insisted, tugging gently. "It's more fun than _staring,"_ she said the word pointedly and the poor man flushed crimson.

"I…ah…I don't dance."

Undaunted, she drew him into the circle, "It's more like prancing. In rhythm. Just _watch_ me," she teased mercilessly, enjoying how very nervous he was becoming.

"Maker's breath," he groaned, but not unhappily, as he allowed her to pull him in and join the other dancers. For a brief moment, he wondered about the soldiers watching, knowing that he would most _definitely_ be hearing about this the next day. Already, he saw his troops watching, clapping, and cheering along with the rest of the crowd.

Aislynn laughed, "Commander, I didn't know you could turn such a deep shade of crimson."

He flashed her a lopsided smile, following her dance steps albeit clumsily, "You planned this."

"You went along with it."

Their eyes met and he swallowed nervously, missing another step. She laughed and the sound seemed more beautiful to him than the sound of the instruments as they played the last few chords of the song. A moment later, Aislynn released him and cheered for the performers.

The musicians began another song right away, but Cullen was eager to get away from the multitude of eyes. Noting his obvious discomfort, she chuckled at him and led him out of the crowd towards where others were around the multiple campfires, some feasting and some swapping stories while others had gathered for warmth. The man took a deep breath, then, and admitted sheepishly, "Seems rather odd for the Commander of the Inquisition to be…er…" he fumbled for words.

"Frolicking?" she offered with a grin.

"Um…yes. That," he cleared his throat and felt the flush returning to his cheeks. _Maker's breath—she does this on purpose…_

They were silent for a moment, keeping warm by the fire, as the sun began to slowly sink down over the mountains. Aislynn felt the quiet _acutely,_ wondering if perhaps she had gone too far, if he truly wanted to remain strangers. They bantered, she made him nervous, he sparred with her—perhaps that was all he wanted. Perhaps that is all his position allowed. Or perhaps she had just been a fool all along and…

"This reminds me a lot of Honnleath," he said, his voice low, reminiscent.

Aislynn's wide eyes met his, "You're from Honnleath?"

He nodded, "I grew up there. This," he gestured at the camp, "reminds me of what it used to be during festivals, before I joined the Templars."

The smile that lit Aislynn's face completely entranced the already awestruck Commander. _This_ was exactly what she had been hoping for.

"So, tell me about the Templars. Their training. Are there vows?"

_**~oOo~**_

_I'm an idiot. No explanation necessary. I-D-I-O-T._ Aislynn fumed to herself later that night, leaning over one of the village's stone walls. _Vows of celibacy?! What other possible way could I have made a fool of myself tonight?_ But then the image of Cullen's completely flabbergasted expression crossed her mind and she wondered if perhaps her foolishness had been worth it after all. Luckily enough for him, he had been saved from more of her idiotic questions by one of his men. They'd left in quite a hurry—and so had the elf, the moment she realized what she had done.

Still, she was having a hard time deciding if she should be ashamed or proud of herself—after all, she discovered an entirely new shade of red after helping paint it in abundance on the Commander's embarrassment-stricken face...

Even so, just for one blissful moment, all was right with the world. Aislynn took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp mountain air. She hadn't been gone for more than two days and already she couldn't believe how much she had missed Haven—missed the bustle and the excitement. She had even missed the bickering of the advisers and her companions. She had raised an eyebrow when she saw Sera, Varric, and Dorian chattering at the steps of the Chantry earlier. Any of those three alone was never a good sign, let alone any of them together in any combination. And there they had been—all three. She shook her head, grinning, and sincerely hoped that Dorian slept with his belt on.

They had all joined the Inquisition willingly-putting their lives on the line when they didn't have to. And while the events transpiring affected them all, she admired their dedication when they certainly were not required to give it. She hoped they would remain a little while yet...

A darkness overshadowed her thoughts, then. For every question answered, a hundred more questions arose. _Who is the Elder One? What part does he play in this?_ The Inquisition's part was not over with the destruction of the Breach-in fact, it had just begun. There was still so much work left to be accomplished, so many loose ends to be tied. It was a giant puzzle with its pieces scattered all across Thedas and Aislynn was beginning to feel just how important their role in the future would be. After the incident at Redcliffe, she shuddered to think about what they were truly up against.

She was pondering this when Cassandra approached her. "There you are," and the elf turned to face the tall woman. "After the stories I heard about you today, it seems that if you wanted the moon, you could reach out and put it in your pocket."

The elf's ears flushed red in embarrassment and she scoffed lightly, "They also say I slew a thousand demons single handed when I stepped from the Fade and became the Herald of Andraste."

Regarding her elfin companion carefully, the Seeker continued, her voice earnest, "The fact remains that you stood where others did not. Your mark is important, but it's the person behind it that chose to stay." Her brown eyes held deep sincerity when she turned to face Aislynn. "It's the person they adore, now. Not the mark. All this time, it has been _you._ And they—we—do _not_ take that lightly."

For a moment, Aislynn was silent. She considered Cassandra's words and, while she still felt unworthy, she was grateful for the support. "I…" she shrugged timidly, "…do not believe that I have done as much as you say—or as they believe. But…I appreciate that you have stood with me."

"You are welcome. But what matters is that the Breach is sealed," and Aislynn smiled at her directness. The Seeker had never been fond of pleasantries. "We've reports of lingering rifts and many questions still remain, but…this was a victory," and her brown eyes flashed with a small measure of lingering triumph. "Word of your heroism has spread."

The elf chuckled softly, "I was hardly the only one involved. If it hadn't been for all of you, none of this would be possible."

"You are right," she admitted. "This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory."

They stood together for a few minutes in silence, two amiable onlookers of the excitement happening just beyond them. Aislynn had never been able to spend much time with Cassandra outside of the missions on which they were sent. Of all the opinions in the Inquisition-even above her advisers-Cassandra's meant the most. After all, from what little she had been able to gather, it was Cassandra and Leliana, the right and left hands of the Divine, who began the Inquisition. None of what they had thus far accomplished would be possible without them. That they trusted her with such great responsibility still amazed the elf and she feared that she would not be enough-that she was inadequate to serve with them. She feared failure above all else.

Especially now that she knew the consequences...

Cassandra hoped, finally having Aislynn by herself, to pose her idea about the future of the Inquisition to her. Facing her directly, she began, "With the Breach closed, this alliance will need new focus—"

But she was cut off by the sound of the watchtower bells ringing just outside the village gates. Both women stood erect, poised for action when Aislynn saw Cullen and the soldier with whom he had left earlier sprinting across the courtyard. Every soldier present saw his urgency and turned their attention to him as he approached. Expression fierce, he shouted out above the din of the bells and the panic of the startled villagers:

"Forces approaching! To arms!"


	21. And The Thunder Rolls

_A special word of thanks to another gaming team (I'm just borrowing names)…this is for all of you Call of Duty fans. It's discreet, so kudos to those who catch it. Good luck!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

They ran—as fast as their legs could carry them—to the closed gates of the city where Cullen stood with Leliana and Josephine. Aislynn's comrades joined soon after, armed and ready for battle.

"Quickly, men!" he roared over the panicking villagers and dazed recruits to his soldiers. "Retrieve your weapons from the armory." To the passing lieutenants and captains, he sorted commands quickly, "Gather your forces here, Ser Marrick. Ser Elias, line your archers on the wall—go, now!"

"Cullen?" Cassandra called his name as a question, skidding to a halt before him, Aislynn at her heels.

His expression was fierce as he explained, pointing to the mountains, "One watch guard reporting says it's a massive force, with the bulk over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" asked Josephine, searching the mountainside with incredulous eyes.

The Commander's expression grew even darker, "None."

Aislynn turned away from her advisers and focused on the gates. Already, she could hear the heavy thudding of boots echoing through the mountains as the army neared. The flames from the torches they carried lit the mountainside, a fierce blaze under the soft glow of the moon. She wondered how they had managed to get so close to their base undetected and she sighed knowing that the only way they could have was if…

_Leliana must be devastated…her scouts…_ and she cast a glance at the spymaster, but her eyes—as always—were guarded, shuttered from emotion. Aislynn moved to stand with the archers on the wall when suddenly a resounding crash on the gates startled the companions beside it.

"I can't come in unless you open!" cried a muffled voice from the other side.

Varric, somewhere behind Aislynn, snorted incredulously, "Well, obviously…"

The elf's eyes narrowed and she approached, wondering if perhaps the poor soul locked out was a villager. Trepidation slowed her steps, but her conscience spurred her to investigate. Cullen saw her intentions and drew his sword, moving to stand beside her, his thoughts matching hers in regards to the one knocking. Nodding his head to the guard beside the gate, he stepped defensively before the woman as they both strode outside the wall.

Just beyond their reach was a heavily guarded templar lumbering towards them with weapon held aggressively aloft. The Commander made a move to attack, but the towering attacker stumbled and fell, just before Cullen could reach him. The Commander's arm shot out protectively to stop Aislynn from getting closer when the culprit responsible for the templar's demise appeared from behind the corpse.

The boy seemed to be in his late teens, gangly, pale, with flaxen hair matted over his head and covering his eyes and an unsightly villager's hat atop his uncombed hair. His ragged clothes hung on his gaunt frame and he seemed so out of place, even carrying the bloody dagger used to kill the templar. His young voice rose urgently when he saw Aislynn, "I'm Cole. I came to warn you—to help." He stepped over the body and moved closer, but Cullen grasped her arm and drew her back. "People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know—"

Aislynn wrangled free of Cullen's grasp and spoke to the boy, "What do you know? What's going on?"

The waif's voice lowered as he explained, "It's the Templars. They've come to kill you."

"The Templars?" Cullen's indignant growl startled the boy and he drew back a step, fearing the sword in the Commander's hand. The man's attention was on Aislynn, however, as he ranted, "Is _this_ the Order's response to our talks with the mages?" His usually kind eyes were hard and filled with disbelief and anger. "Attacking blindly?"

Quickly, the boy answered him, "The Red Templars went to the Elder One…you know him?" he asked again of the elf. Before she could reply, he finished, "He knows _you._ You took his mages." Cole's hand lifted and a long, bony finger pointed to a hill beyond, "There…the Elder One…" and his voice grew quiet, fearful. "He's very angry that you took his mages…"

Aislynn saw the figure, saw the outline, saw the man standing beside the Elder One, but could not make out distinct features. They were yet too far away. Far enough, perhaps, for them to devise a plan. Desperately, she turned to the man beside her, "Cullen, give me a plan—anything!"

The Commander's eyes were fixed on the location at which Cole had pointed, a hard light glinting in his eyes. With voice low, expression grim, he answered what she already knew, "Haven is no fortress. To withstand this _monster_ we must control the battle." His eyes met hers, "Get out there and hit that force with everything you can…" He turned from her and addressed his soldiers and the mages who had gathered as he had previously instructed. "Mages!" He called their attention and stood before them, "You have sanction to engage them. That man up there is Samson—he will _not_ make it easy. Inquisition—with the Herald—for your lives, for _all _of us!"

Aislynn watched the fearsome Commander, drawing strength from his presence as he led his men into position, taking a stand with them at the gates. Heaving a deep breath, she turned to the companions that had gathered around her, their eyes watchful.

"What would you have us do, my dear?" asked Vivienne, her staff held at the ready.

The elf swallowed and began issuing orders, her voice feeling as though it were barely a whisper compared to the Commander's resonant shouts. "Vivienne and Solas, stand with the mages here. They'll need both of you and your steadiness against the onslaught. Sera—with the archers on the wall—take them out just like at Val Royeaux."

The blond elf giggled, "Bloody Templar says 'whot' and then—boom—arrow in your face."

Ignoring the jest, she turned to the others, "Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric—with me. We'll get to the trebuchets; see if we can slow their approach."

"Be careful, lethallan," Solas admonished as he sprinted away with Vivienne to where Cullen had positioned the mages, his staff already aglow with a charge of power, ready to burst.

Cole was still there, waiting, his eyes intense as he gazed at her. She sighed again and said, "Stay safe. See what you can do to help those inside. We'll… talk later."

Eagerly, he did as she asked and she watched his gangly form disappear behind the rush of soldiers squeezing through the gate to rally behind their Commander. Tearing her eyes away from Haven, she shot a poisonous glare at the figures on the faraway hill. Adrenaline rising, heart pounding, blood curdling—she faced them.

_I'm coming for you, Elder One…_

_**~oOo~**_

Shouts and screams filled the air as the armies of the Red Templars engaged the forces of the Inquisition. The air was _thick_ with the sounds of battle. Swords clashed against swords and grunts of pain followed as blows were struck on either side. Crackles of fire, electricity, and ice whizzed through the air around the Inquisition soldiers' heads as the mages attacked mercilessly from the safety of the walls joined by the whistle of arrow shafts and the following _thuds_ as they intercepted their targets.

Aislynn felt her stomach churn as the metallic scent of blood and sweat reached her, wafted upon the winter winds and across the valley. She and her companions fought viciously to reach the trebuchets—and even more intensely to keep them. When they had reached the first trebuchet, the Inquisition's soldiers at the time still retained control but were being hammered from every side by Red Templar forces. Immediately, Aislynn and her companion's sprang into action, their own battle cries mingling with the bellows emanating from the battlefield.

The elf's double daggers were blurs of silver as she sprang from one opponent to the next, using both Cassandra and Dorian as staging points for her attacks. The unsuspecting Templars fell easily, dispatched with little effort as the Inquisition's soldiers aimed the trebuchet to the mountain that was fairly teeming with the enemy's troops.

The second trebuchet, however, was a completely different story.

As the four companions approached, they found that the Templars had already gained control, the mangled, bloodied bodies of dead Inquisition soldiers and Red Templar soldiers alike evidence of a recent struggle. The enemy had turned the trebuchet to face Haven and had just loaded it when the Herald and her companions approached. Dorian and Varric responded immediately, a surge of light and a precise crossbow bolt finding their doomed targets as Aislynn and Cassandra rushed the opposition directly. Now under attack, the Templars abandoned the trebuchet and took up their weapons instead, shouting madly and charging them.

As before, Aislynn's attacks were precise, her form nimble and quick, relying on her dexterity to best the Templars' brute strength. She dodged their blows, sometimes ducking, sometimes dancing away or twirling behind to flank them. The Inquisition's agents seemed to be gaining the upper hand when suddenly the Templar reinforcements arrived.

There were only a handful, but the leader of that dispatch was fearsome to behold. Towering well above the other men, his armor was thick and flawless and the massive flail he bore in his hand deadlier and more destructive than any weapon Aislynn had ever beheld. The iron spikes were long, jagged shafts covered and dripping with blood and matted gore from the poor victims recently slain. It swung on a heavy chain attached to a black hilt gripped tightly in a steel mesh-encased hand. He approached slowly, letting the iron ball swing with each step forward, and his target was Aislynn.

"Cover me!" she shouted to her companions as they engaged the other Templars. Hacking down one of the attackers, Cassandra gave a curt nod to the elf and moved to take on another while Varric and Dorian did their best to stop any stragglers from approaching.

Aislynn ignored the thrum of energy as Dorian cast spell after spell around her at distant forces; she paid no heed to Bianca's bolts as they thudded into their targets; her eyes were on the Reaver and the Reaver alone. They circled each other for but a moment before his muscular arm rose and he swung his flail towards her. It stopped just out of reach, but the attack had been enough to spur Aislynn to action. The moment it flew, she leapt away to his side, hoping to flank him, but he knew better. This time, the flail jetted sideways and she had to duck quickly to keep from being struck. _One blow and I'll be mincemeat… _she thought, eyeing the weapon warily. She feinted to the side, taking a chance at a few deft strikes, but his armor prevented the daggers from causing any damage and she retreated each time to avoid being struck by the flail.

A bolt struck the Templar's armor but it was deflected, leaving only a minor dent in its place. Quickly, Aislynn searched for holes in his armor—anything that she could use to stop him. When he raised his hand again, she found her target.

"Varric! Dorian! Quickly!" and she leapt forward, moving to evade his blow as Varric's bolt whizzed through the air and into the unprotected flesh beneath his arm. Dorian's spell of electricity followed the bolt and surged into the man's body, then, leaving him writhing on the ground while Aislynn dove down for the kill. She sliced through his neck and grimaced as the blood spurted and drenched the snow at her feet.

They turned their attention to the trebuchet, then, and both Aislynn and Dorian leapt to the wheel to turn it away from the city. It took more force than expected to turn it towards the mountain and they grunted, straining to move it quickly into position. _Just a few more turns, _Aislynn thought, huffing as she and Dorian struggled with the wheel. _Almost there…_

When they finally were able to cut the rope and release the stone, they watched with relief as it flew true to course and struck the side of the mountain. This time, it caused a severe avalanche and they watched as the snow came cascading down the mountain, covering the soldiers below and extinguishing their torches. New screams rose from afar where the Templars had been taken by surprise—then the screams were cut brutally short as the armies were buried under several feet of heavy snow. Aislynn breathed a sigh of relief and a shout of victory rose up from the soldiers present. A clear victory against the Inquisition's attackers, it seemed.

But that victory was short lived.

Another cry arose, but not from any soldier. When Aislynn looked up to find the source, she looked_ way_ up and saw a dark, terrifying creature winging just above her position. Its gaping maw erupted with a jet of flames that consumed the trebuchet and sent her and her companions sprawling in the snow. With another fierce cry, the dragon flew away—toward _Haven, _circling it like a fierce bird of prey_._

"We…we need to _do_ something!" Cassandra shouted, her voice desperate.

"Back to the gates," replied the elf, already at a full sprint to reach the small village. She saw Cullen just outside the gates, keeping the wooden doors agape, and calling the retreat for his soldiers, directing them to move to the Chantry. Aislynn stumbled when she reached the gates, but his strong arms caught her and effortlessly placed her inside the safety of the walls, slamming the doors shut behind the rest of her group.

He was still shouting orders as men and women ran past, "We need everyone to the Chantry—it's the only building that might hold against that…that _beast_!" Ensuring that his men followed his orders, he then turned his attention to the Herald. "At this point, just make them work for it," and the meaning he implied sent shivers down Aislynn's spine. She watched him go and help a fallen soldier to his feet. The Commander lifted the wounded man's arm over his shoulder and guided him personally to the Chantry. The four companions made to follow but a cry for help stopped her.

"Herald!" a man's voice came weakly from a burning building.

Her face paled and she turned to her companions, "Search the houses—all of them," and she leaped into the structure from which she heard the call. A soldier was lying on the floor, faced down, his leg mangled from where a beam had fallen and crushed it. She struggled, but was able to lift the beam and the man sobbed in gratitude.

"Come," she said, trying to ease his arm over her shoulder and assist him as she had seen the Commander do with the other man, "I'll help you."

"Bless you, my lady Herald," the man wheezed, doing his best to move with her out of the building. Thankfully, Dorian was nearby and moved to assist them.

"My god, man…" he cursed, seeing the hanging limb. "You!" he shouted to a passing recruit, "Here—get this man to the Chantry. Quickly!" Turning him over to the young man's strong arms, Dorian then grasped Aislynn's wrist. "You're coming with me—Cassandra and Varric will meet us at the Chantry, but you're not going alone," he said determinedly.

Aislynn did not protest; she was thankful for his help. Together, they rescued whom they could and, several minutes later, the four of them entered the Chantry together, shutting the door behind them, satisfied that the village had been emptied.

Chancellor Roderick greeted them at the door, clutching his wounded side but wheezing to those villagers entering before Aislynn and her companions, "Move quickly…the Chantry is…your shelter…" and then he slumped into Cole's waiting arms. Another soldier came and helped Cole carry him inwards to a pallet on the floor.

"He tried to stop a Templar," Cole explained. "The blade went deep. He is going to die."

"What a…charming…boy," Roderick rasped sarcastically, yet not denying the diagnosis.

The building was crowded. Some soldiers remained in the foyer, their weapons at the ready as they listened to the approaching horde just beyond the walls. Villagers milled in the corridors and halls, some even waiting below in the prison, their eyes wide and fearful. Mixed stalwartly with the rest of the Inquisition's soldiers stood the mages with the same fear in their expressions that mirrored the eyes of everyone else gathered.

From across the room, Cullen shouted, "Herald," and jogged towards her. She felt her stomach roil at the grim expression on his face and his following announcement, "our position is not good." He halted before her, "That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us." Defeat slumped his shoulders and the elf felt the blow even more fiercely for what it had done to the strong Commander.

"I've seen an archdemon before…" Cole said to them in barely above a whisper. "I was in the Fade, but it looked like _that._"

Cullen snapped, "I don't care what it looks like—it's cut a path for that army. They'll kill _everyone_ in Haven."

Shaking his head, the boy replied, "The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald."

Quickly, she interjected, "If this will save the village, I'll gladly face that thing myself."

"It won't."

Her brows furrowed, "But you said—"

"He _wants_ to kill you. But he _will_ kill them—crush them _anyway_…" and then Cole's voice dropped again. "I don't like him…"

"You don't like—" Cullen began angrily, but stopped himself to instead address Aislynn, "Herald," and his voice was low, "there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche—we could turn the remaining trebuchets and cause one last slide."

She shook her head, "Cullen, we are overrun. To hit the enemy we'd bury Haven."

And then she saw it—that shadow that crossed his eyes at the gates of the village, after the dragon had appeared. He had already given up… "We'll die," he confirmed, "but we'll get to decide how. Not many get that choice…"

Beside the elf, Dorian fumed, "You think just like a blood mage," his voice was loud and angry as he faced the Commander, "Death is supposed to be a last resort—"

"This _is_ a last resort," Cullen hissed and Aislynn put a hand to their chests to separate them before they came to blows.

Cole suddenly cried out amidst the men's clamoring, "Yes, that! Chancellor Roderick can help—he wants to say it before he dies."

"The people _can _escape," the dying man spluttered, "There is a path…you wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage as I have…Andraste must have shown me so I could t-tell you…" and he coughed, "As the remaining one with this memory—with the others dead—it could be more than just mere coincidence. _You_ could be more…"

Aislynn's eyes lit up, "Chancellor…that is invaluable…" and then she turned to the Commander, "Cullen, could it work? If the villagers were to take the mountain path, I could remain behind—turn the remaining trebuchets to the mountain and face the Elder One. Buy them time."

"Possibly, if he shows us the path," he nodded, a plan beginning to formulate in his mind. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped. "But what of your escape?"

She didn't answer him—she couldn't. _At least I get to choose my death…_ thought the elf sadly. Her eyes met his and the realization of what she meant to do widened his eyes. He took a step closer to her, keeping his voice low. Cullen's gaze was intense as he stared into her emerald ones. The hope she had seen, had drawn from before, filled them now as he spoke, "Perhaps you will surprise it—find a way…" To the soldiers surrounding them, he shouted, "Inquisition—follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry—move!"

"Herald…" the Chancellor gasped, "if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this…I pray for you…"

She blinked back grateful tears at his admission, his own way of apologizing for his adamant opposition before. Whispering a quick "thank you," to him, she watched his retreating form supported by Cole as they—and the rest of the Inquisition—moved towards their escape.

Cullen was at her side, facing her again, as a small group of soldiers rushed past her and out the door. "They'll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line," he instructed, but Aislynn couldn't meet his gaze. She nodded curtly and turned away, not wanting him to see her with the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. But he stopped her once more, his tone insistent, "If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance…let that thing _hear you._"

Aislynn swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She didn't want to watch him walk away, didn't want to be reminded of what she knew she'd never see again. Instead, she faced the Chantry doors and resolutely pulled them open.

"We'll come with you," the Seeker said, moving to her side, but Aislynn shook her head.

"They'll need you with them, Cassandra," the elf protested. "They'll need someone to guide them."

"And they'll have someone," she affirmed. "But in the meantime, we'll be with you."

Dorian crossed his arms, "We're much too ravishing together to be separated at a time like this, after all. What would it do the morale?"

"I'm with Sparkler on that one," Varric said with a shrug. "We've already settled it, Ace—so let's go kick some Elder One butt."

"Besides," Dorian added, winking at her, "we need to be noticed. It happens to be a specialty of mine."

She smiled in spite of herself as they left the Chantry and stepped into the biting cold. A storm was brewing over the mountain and the swirling winds and spitting sleet flecks were just the preamble. The elf steeled herself and marched forward to face the Elder One and his archdemon while above them the clouds gathered and darkened, flashing electricity and lighting up the valley. Her expression set like flint on her target, Aislynn then sped to a run—

_And the thunder rolls…_


	22. Avalanche

_There are days I simply cannot believe that I get to do things like this—for fun! It's not a job, I'm not getting paid, I don't have to do it, but it's the best thing in the world. Thank you guys for making this worth it! _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

_Go_! she had screamed at them, and they ran.

And _ran._

They were halfway up the mountain before Dorian and the others stopped for breath. Cassandra bent over, her hands bracing wearily on her knees as she gulped for air. Varric was in no better condition. But Dorian—

"Vishante Kaffas!" he cursed. "Where is Aislynn?" but his eyes darkened when he saw the three sets of footprints in the snow where four should have been. He stole a quick glance at the mountain—_No avalanche…that means she stayed. She'll die!_ raged his fearful thoughts. _She'll die out there, alone in that god-forsaken village._

Cassandra's expression was murderous as she turned on the mage, "She was right behind you! Why didn't you look out for her? Why did you let her stay?"

"No one let her stay, Seeker," Varric said, coughing as his lungs took in the freezing air. "You know better than anyone that she stayed to buy the Inquisition time."

Dorian began to stride back down the mountain, "I'm going after her—"

"That is out of the question! You can't go back down there, now." Cassandra grabbed his arm, but he wrenched himself from her grasp.

"She'll _die!_" he shouted fiercely, his hazel eyes flashing anger. "I _have_ to go back. She'll need help!"

Varric shook his head, "In a few minutes Haven is going to be covered in snow. Then we'll _all_ be dead, and what good would that be for everyone else?"

The Seeker nodded her agreement, her brown eyes shadowed by sadness as she sighed, "We cannot allow her sacrifice to be in vain…the Inquisition will still need our help to rebuild…"

The mage gazed at them both with disbelief, "How can you speak of rebuilding when the woman who got you this far is facing a bloody archdemon—_alone_?! And _we_ left her there!"

"You're not the only one this is hurting, Dorian!" shouted Cassandra, stepping dangerously close to him and glaring into his eyes. "I know what we're losing! But we can't change what's happened!"

The Tevinter mage growled, "She may still have a chance if I can just—"

He was cut short when, suddenly, the ground upon which they stood trembled…

"No…" Dorian breathed as he watched the entire mountainside quake as the snow lifted from its craggy sides and cascaded violently into the valley. Drifts of snow—walls of white almost hundreds of feet high—crashed into the village, towering for a moment above the stone walls before collapsing and settling over the scattered buildings and the grand Chantry. For a few minutes, they saw nothing, but a haze of powder swirling above the town, mingling with the sleet tossed on the howling winds. Suddenly one large figure erupted from the madness with a screech and the archdemon disappeared over the mountain, retreating to only Maker knows where.

Dorian couldn't breathe. He collapsed to his knees in the cold snow and stared at what used to be Haven. Not even the spiral tower of the Chantry remained in sight and a cold fear gripped his heart followed by a dull, resigned ache.

_She was gone…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn awoke some time later, lying covered in snow. Everything _hurt_ and she wondered if perhaps she had fractured a rib—she could hardly draw a breath in without feeling as though her lungs would burst. She chose, then, to remain still a moment longer to regain her bearings. _Why am I lying here? What happened?_ Her head throbbed from where she supposed she had struck it after falling—

_Falling…_ she glanced at the ceiling of what appeared to be a cave. Wooden beams and stone blocks were layered above the hole where she had fallen through, no doubt the rubble from a building collapsed by the recent avalanche. _I'm under the city…in the sewers…_ she realized, trying to piece together the events previous.

_Corypheus…_ that was his name…_the Elder One…_the elf shuddered remembering him as he faced her, the feel of his sinewy hands on her throat, the coldness in his eyes, his hot breath on her face when he spoke. He was the epitome of everything evil—hardly resembling a human. His monstrous form had towered above her slight one, and she had remembered the feeling of terror when she beheld his twisted body. Bones protruded where his chest had been, muscle bared where skin should have concealed. The lips on his face were scarred and twisted in a permanent sneer underneath his icy glare. Sparse armor did little to shield him though the way he had picked her up and thrown her—like she was nothing more than a ragdoll—she doubted the armor was necessary at all. He was angry, he was vengeful—

And he was _evil._

She heard his deep voice replaying in her mind as he explained the Anchor—the green light in her hand. The orb had bestowed such power to her. She was an _accident_. Unworthy of his time. And when he had attempted to remove it from her_—Creators, the pain!_—she could still feel the sensation of his magic ripping through her muscles, trying to tear the Mark from her palm.

But he couldn't.

She had defied him—defied his armies, defied his power, defied his efforts. And then she had sent the entire mountain tumbling down upon their heads.

And, now, here she was.

The elf forced herself into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. _I shouldn't even be alive…_ she thought with no small amount of amazement. She stood shakily to her feet, feeling the word spin around her and she leaned against the side of the cavern, taking slow—albeit painful—breaths. When her eyes were able to focus again, Aislynn turned her attention to her escape. The sewers led out of the city though she had no idea as to where. Having little other choice, though, she decided it would be her best course of action to find out.

She raised the mark on her hand and used it a replacement "lantern" as she trudged through the dripping, freezing cavern.

_Another use for this…thing…_ she thought with a sardonic grin and disappeared into the darkness.

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen paced at the top of the mountain pass. The rest of the Inquisition had settled in the valley just over the ridge, their cloth tents set up in the alcoves against the mountain for temporary shelter. Once he had been assured that his soldiers and what people had been able to make it were situated, he at once clambered back up to the saddle where he could watch for the missing companions. They all had felt the mountain tremble only an hour previous, yet no word had come since then. There was no sign—_nothing_—from Aislynn.

That, perhaps, scared him the most—even above the Elder One's attack.

_Perhaps she found a way…she _must_ have found a way…_ worried eyes searched the pathway. He had been standing there for what seemed like hours, hoping for he knew not what. His mind told him that there was no way—there couldn't possibly have been. And yet his heart…

_She can't be dead…_

He paced again, even more agitated than before. He would wait there all night if he had to—even if just to confirm his fears…

"Cullen!"

The feminine voice below stopped him short and he turned, feeling ashamed of himself that he was even slightly disappointed. He scrambled down the mountainside to where she and two others stood, "Cassandra—what happened? Where is—"

"What do _you_ think happened down there, Commander?" Dorian spat before the man could even finish his sentence. "A bloody mountain fell on top of Haven—with _her_ in it. So what do _you_ think?"

"Dorian, enough!" Cassandra snapped, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

Cullen felt a tightness growing in the pit of his stomach as he prepared himself for the words he knew were soon to follow. The mage stomped away from them, not even bothering to fix the dark locks that had fallen out of place, following the tracks up the mountain to the encampment.

Nodding his own dismissal to Cassandra, Varric sighed, "I won't be any use for this, I think…" and he made to follow Dorian. The dwarf paused momentarily before Cullen, though, and patted his arm kindly before also disappearing over the ridge.

"Cassandra…" he began again, the tightness in his voice evident.

She did not let him finish, "She…she did not make it up with us. She stayed behind and faced him—the Elder One—alone. Dorian is right, we should have…" and then frustration she had been concealing suddenly burst free. "None of us thought to make sure she followed. Once the archdemon and the Elder One arrived, she told us to run, and we did. We…none of us…assumed that she would…_stay._" Her dark, soulful eyes met his and she snarled, "And now she's _dead._"

It took every ounce of his self-control to keep a straight face, though he knew his eyes still betrayed his tumultuous emotions. "Thank you, Cassandra, " he murmured huskily. "There are fires just over the ridge. Get yourself warm, and we'll…we'll discuss this later…" Her eyes meant to search his, but he would not meet her gaze. Instead, he sighed dismissively, "I will be along shortly."

Alone, again, on the mountain, the Commander of the Inquisition stared bleakly down the pass towards the ruins of Haven. _So this is it?_ thought the Commander bitterly. _After everything we've accomplished, after all we've done, this is it? She's gone? _Leaning wearily against a pine tree, he rubbed his temples with gloved hands. _How do we rebuild? They've come to trust her, to rely on her so much…they've looked to her for guidance, and shed blood with her…_ _She'd have been the perfect Inquisitor…_

Slowly, he trudged down the mountainside. She deserved more than to be left buried in that ruinous city. She, of all people, deserved a proper funeral. Every word he'd said to her during their time together came back to haunt him—all the times she'd purposely made him nervous, their sparring matches, their small banter, the serious questions, the silly ones—_Maker's breath, even about celibacy—_the moment he _knew_ he should have pursued her, should have followed after her when she had needed him most while she wavered between choosing the mages or the Templars, and the letters she had sent to him while on the field…

Cullen swallowed a lump in his throat reaching a hand up to his breastplate where he had hurriedly stuffed them while gathering his meager supplies for the journey.

He fought with the emotions running unbridled through his being. It had been…_years…_since he had felt this way.

Then he sighed again, his heart heavy, his body weary, _And it will be years again…or perhaps even never again… not after this…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn's slight body shivered uncontrollably as she limped out into the blizzard. The swirling winds and the sleet and snow blinded her, chilling her body and slowing her progress. Everything was cold, everything _hurt_… Chattering teeth behind frozen lips, now almost turning blue, accidentally bit into her tongue and she whimpered, swallowing the blood she felt settling in her mouth.

She was exhausted, she could barely breathe, she couldn't see… the elf staggered and tumbled into the snow. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and froze there. She choked back a ragged sob as the pain intensified. Shivering arms, numbed to the bone from the snow and sleet, gingerly pushed her back on to her unsteady feet and determinedly she pressed forward.

She had passed a cold campfire some time ago, but there had been no indication since then that she was going in the right direction. She wasn't even sure she was going towards the right mountain. Everything felt uphill—every step was agony. Her boots felt heavy, as though they were full of lead.

How long had she been walking? How long had she been lost in the blizzard? Aislynn could hardly begin to guess. She glanced up, but all she saw was _white_—_everywhere_. Stumbling again, she let herself drop to all fours, too weary to stand against the raging of the winds around her.

_Just a little longer…just to the tree line…_ she panted, struggling to move her frozen body. _It hurts…_

Her thoughts traveled to her companions—she hoped that they made it safely to the rest of the Inquisition's forces. Had Chancellor Roderick's directions been true? Gasping in pain as another blast knocked her down, she thought of Varric, of Sera, of Dorian—her _friends…_ What little time she had known them, she had come to rely on their wit and cunning, their giant hearts they kept hidden behind masks of humor. Of Cassandra, her stalwart companion and defender. Of Solas, her keeper of knowledge and the unknown. Of Vivienne, her counselor. Of her advisers…

_Cullen…_

His face came unbidden to her memory and she felt fresh tears sting her eyes. _I'll never see him again… I'll never see _any_ of them again… but why does it hurt so much?!_

Aislynn collapsed in the snow, unable to move anymore. _I can't…I can't make it…_ she thought, her eyes fluttering shut. _I'm so cold…_

_So tired…_

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen shielded his eyes against the howling winds, the sleet biting into his flesh and ripping at his cloak and armor. He pulled the material tighter to him and determinedly pressed forward. He was halfway down the mountain, but the storm had hindered his forward progress, slowing him down and nearly blinding him. In his grief, he had chosen to locate her body immediately, but now he was wondering if perhaps he had been too rash—too insistent. With the blizzard now full force, he doubted he would make much progress anyway—and Maker knows just how much snow she would be under. How would he know where to start looking?

The questions depressed him even more, but he told himself if the storm did not ease within in the next few minutes then he would turn back and resume the search in the morning.

The Commander staggered after an especially violent gust and reached out to steady himself on the trunk of a pine. _This is madness…_ he fumed at himself. _I let myself care—_

The admission stopped him short. _I let myself care too much…and look where it's gotten me…_

Shaking his head, he made a move to head back towards the camp when a dark figure in the distance caught his eye. It had been fleeting—a glimpse between the swirling white miasma—but it piqued his interest. Hand on his sword hilt, he pressed forward towards where he had last seen it. By now, the snow was past his knees and he grimaced as the cold seeped through his armor and his clothes, chilling him even more deeply than before. Just ahead, he caught sight of it again and he moved faster, his heart pounding.

"Maker's breath!" he gasped, dropping to his knees. "Aislynn," he murmured roughly, pulling her delicate frame from the snow. Her skin was like ice, her body stiff and pallid, except for her lips, which were beginning to turn an unnatural tint of blue. Cursing, he ripped his cloak from off of his shoulders and wrapped her in it securely. Cullen cradled her tightly against him and shook her gently, "Aislynn, answer me…" with the howling winds it was hard to know if she even still lived. By the look of her, he feared the worst. She was just so _cold…_

It was different—seeing her like this. When Cassandra had told him the news, it was one thing to hear that she had died, but then to _see _it…it did something to him; and he felt an old familiar pang of emptiness swallow his heart and well up in his chest. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I should never have let you do this…"

There was so much he still wanted to say—but couldn't. He'd never have the chance. The man would have gone on, but the most unexpected thing happened—and he felt her _move._ Cullen tensed and he searched her face, "Aislynn—" and then he saw her eyes open.

"C-cullen?"

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice coarse and thick with relief. "I'm here, and you're safe. It's going to be all right."

Her eyelids fluttered slowly, and she murmured, her words almost inaudible, "So tired…"

"Stay awake a bit longer," he urged, shaking her ever so gently. "_Stay with me._"

Thin arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders and she buried her face in his neck, mumbling what he assumed was her answer. Suddenly, it didn't matter that the winds were blowing even more forcefully or that the sleet had worsened—Cullen sprinted up the mountainside, clutching Aislynn tightly to his heart.

_Everything was going to be all right..._


	23. The Dawn Will Come

_Thanks for the reviews and story favorites/follows. I'm looking forward to the next few chapters as the Inquisition begins to build—also the introduction of Iron Bull and Blackwall coming up rather quickly. Another guest appearance is coming, too, from another Origins character. Oh yeah—by the way—anyone else out there notice that the tune to "The Dawn Will Come" is strangely similar to the tune Pippin sings in Return of the King, "Home is Behind." Just curious. To me, it sounds very, very alike. Anyway—reviews always welcome!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

His hands were _shaking._

By all accounts, she _should_ have died. That avalanche should not have been survivable—it _wasn't _survivable. Facing down an archdemon _and_ an ancient darkspawn Magister—nothing in that equation spoke success.

_And yet_…

Cullen looked up at the healer's tent. They had been in there for _hours_, it seemed. The only person who had been in or out was Dorian, and only by special permission. He had hovered at the entrance and argued with one of the other mages until Cullen had finally intervened, allowing him, at least, inside. The Tevinter mage hadn't come out since.

He wrenched his eyes away and nearly resumed his antagonized pacing, but this time forcing his nervous energy to pursue something _useful_—like overseeing the straggling remnants of the Inquisition, who were just as weary and worried as he was. Taking purposeful strides towards the temporary campsites, the Commander listened to the conversations of the people around him. Their words echoed his own amazement and he couldn't help but smile faintly at the whispers—

"Back from the _dead_, it seems. No normal person could have survived that."

"She's not normal—she's the Herald of Andraste!"

"She's come back—for _us. _Andraste preserved her, yet again."

"The Herald faced the demons, then faced the _arch_demon—and returned whole! Praise the Maker, she lives."

Cullen's thoughts mirrored their hopeful exuberance. Even more so knowing what she had been through to make it to where she was now. Sighing deeply, he immersed himself in work, gathering firewood with his men, helping others with their tents, repairing the wagons damaged during the journey. So many were hungry as they had left quickly and without proper provisions. Coordinating a few of the archers, he sent a small dispatch to hunt what animals could be found. He would be no use hovering over her tent—no matter how badly he wanted to be there.

He would immerse himself in work—something he was more than familiar with, confident in. He could lead armies, command forces, battle hordes, but he could not sit idly by and _wait._ And he very nearly succeeded in his intent to do just as he planned.

But then, _Cassandra…_

_**~oOo~**_

Solas slipped into the tent quietly and stood to the side, observing the Herald. She had been unconscious for some time, and perhaps would be for some time more. After what she had been through, she deserved a rest. He nodded to one of the mages overseeing her care and stepped closer to get a better idea of what was needed. While they had been able to raise her temperature and make her more comfortable, there was still the matter of what had been broken. Magic could do a great deal of good, but healing broken bones was another matter entirely. It took a precise kind of magic and extreme focus, otherwise the bone would not set properly and cause further damage in the future.

It was then that he noticed the other mage's presence.

"Dorian," he acknowledged quietly. "I did not expect you to be _here,_ of all places."

The other man quirked an eyebrow, "Another of my specialties, actually," but his eyes remained on the elfin lass.

"Let me rephrase that," Solas said gruffly. "What _are_ you doing here?"

Turning, finally, to meet Solas's gaze, the handsome mage chuckled, "I could ask the same of you, but I don't suppose you'd grace me with a straightforward answer." Dorian stood then and crossed his arms, "So, to spare you the trouble of prying, suffice to say that my intentions are well and good, for the moment."

The elfin mage scoffed, but did not engage in an argument, "I suppose that shall have to do…" and he eyed Dorian carefully as he finished, "_for the moment_…"

They were silent then, observing quietly the work of the other mages as they concentrated their collective efforts on healing the multiple fractures and breaks in the Herald's body. Dorian winced as he considered what kind of damage she had most certainly taken from the avalanche that decimated Haven. _It's a miracle she made it as far as she did…_

Another voice beside him nearly toppled him over as Varric ducked through the dark corner of the tent. "What's the damage?"

Solas turned angry eyes to the dwarf, "Get out. You'll disturb the healers."

Mocking eyes met the elf's and he snorted, "And your hovering won't? C'mon, Chuckles, they're professionals." When, after a moment, when no one spoke, he prodded, "Well?"

Eyes narrowed, Solas answered him, keeping his voice low: "She sustained a great deal of internal damage. Seven fractured ribs, five broken, torn shoulder, a concussion, and an open wound on her leg that was very nearly missed due to it being frozen. They've managed to seal the wound on her leg, and mend the tear on her shoulder, but the ribs and her concussion are a bit more serious." He cleared his throat and moved to step closer to the other two men, "It will take some time for them to repair the damage, but…they seem confident that all will be well…in time."

"Oy, bloody relief that is," sighed Sera beside Dorian and he started violently, nearly falling out of the tent.

"Egads, woman!" He harrumphed, "Where the bloody void did _you_ come from?"

She sneered at him, "Out your arse, ninny. I've been here the whole time."

"No you haven't," he frowned. "I would have seen your mismatched socks and stolen breeches from a mile away."

"Darlings, please," said Vivienne, opening the tent flap, "play quietly or you'll disturb the healers."

Solas growled at the growing crowd of agents, "You can't _all_ be in here. This is _serious—"_

"Pish," Sera said, echoing all of their protests. "_You're_ here. If you stay, we stay."

"You're…disruptive," he argued, weakly.

"Am not," she crossed her legs. "Dorian doesn't think I'm disruptive."

Vivienne leaned gently against the pole of the tent, tilting her head gracefully, "He also does not think his wardrobe flamboyant. I would not trust his explicit judgment, my dear."

The Tevinter mage raised a brow at the Orlesian mage, "You wound me, darling Vivienne. Look, I'm bleeding all over poor Varric."

"Always picking on the little guy. I see how it is," Varric quipped, shaking his head in amusement.

A shadow moved in the tent and a young man's voice whispered, "Cold—so cold, and daggers, everywhere. Each breath like it should be the last…"

"Cole!" Solas hissed, "Not you too."

The boy's slight shoulders shrugged, "I just want to help…"

"Then get _out_," he pointed to the flap.

"But—"

"Let the kid stay," Varric said, patting the empty space on the crate he was using for a chair. "C'mere, Kid. You'll be out of the way here."

Cole moved timidly across the small space of the tent and alighted on the crate, his gangly body tense as he observed the companions, the healers, and the Herald. He was perched precariously on the crate as though any sudden movement would send him scampering away.

They all would have stayed, their easy banter a welcome distraction from the problem they knew they could not avoid. Each personality differed so greatly from the next one, and yet here they were—all unified agents of the Inquisition. Each one giving themselves, one way or another, to the service of the little elf whose life currently hung in the balance. Their fear for—and their loyalty to—the woman was unspoken. It helped, being there, together, no matter how greatly they disagreed with each other in any other area in life. For the moment, they were all in agreement upon one thing: the Herald. What little they knew was enough for them to know just how crucial a part she played.

So they remained, bandying words with each other as though nothing were the matter—

That is, until the opposite side of the tent opened.

Every eye in the room turned and rested upon the scowling face of the Commander of the Inquisition. He didn't say a word—he didn't have to. He simply stepped into the meager confines of the tent and _glared _at them, individually. _Maker_, how he glared… To be sure, if looks could _kill_, they would have all been in worse condition than the Herald.

One by one, the companions filed out of the tent, avoiding eye contact with the imposing figure, even Dorian who had half a mind to protest that, after all, he _had_ been given special permission. But one look at the Commander's face silenced his forthcoming protests. _Better to live to fight another day_, he thought, disappearing into the night.

Cullen crossed his arms and watched them leave—making sure they really _left_. He had put every ounce of intimidation that he possessed into that single stare. When the tent was empty, save for the healers who, he had to admit, had _quite_ the focus to have ignored the raucous, he allowed his posture to relax. The Commander then turned his attention to one of the mages who had busied herself with something menial and asked, "Any updates for me?"

She nodded her head, but gave him a reassuring smile. "She'll be all right, Commander. What she needs more than anything is _rest._"

He nodded, satisfied, and left the tent. Cassandra was waiting for him when he stepped out and he held up his hand, "Not right now—not here. If we're going another round, let's wait till we find Leliana and Josephine."

"Very well," she sighed, but the look she gave him made his head ache.

_If looks could kill, indeed…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn's dreams were dark…

Tossing and turning upon the small cot, her unconscious mind tried to flee the demons pursuing, batting at their ravenous eyes and snarling, gaping maws. The deep voice of the Elder One echoed in her subconscious, _You cannot hide forever_…

She sat up quickly, her head spinning, her breaths coming in gasps.

_Just a dream…just a dream…_

A gentle voice beside her startled her yet again and she turned wide eyes to Mother Giselle. The kindly Chantry Mother merely smiled, "Don't be alarmed. You are safe now."

Taking deep, steadying breaths, Aislynn nodded an acknowledgement. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or why she was there at all. Shutting her eyes tightly, she tried to think past the ache in her skull, past the haziness that clouded her memories. She remembered the snow, the cold, the stabbing pain in her chest, the fear, the confusion, the blizzard…

But she didn't remember making it to the tent.

_Cullen…_

She remembered his strong arms, his warm cloak, the softness in his voice—his eyes.

_That's why I'm here…_ she realized. _He found me…_

Mother Giselle offered her a cup of something warm and rather foul smelling. Aislynn, at first, wrinkled her nose, but the woman insisted, "It will help with the headache. You've had quite a day, my lady Herald."

After a moment, she took the proffered cup and lifted its contents to her lips. Her face puckered at its bitter taste and she resisted the strong urge to spit the liquid right back out. _It helps,_ she reminded herself sternly, taking yet another painful sip of the nasty concoction. _At least it's warm…_

Beyond her tent, she could hear the voices of her advisers, rising and falling like ocean waves. She could hear the diplomatic Josephine, trying to intermediate between the hotheaded Cassandra and the stubborn Cullen's harsh words. Leliana's voice joined in the fray every so often beginning yet another round of pointless arguing.

Aislynn listened to their attacks—questions about the future of the Inquisition, loss of their infrastructure, lack of resources. She shivered, hearing the hostile tones of their voices. They were _afraid._ She turned to Mother Giselle, her voice quiet, "How long have they been at it?"

"Quite some time, my dear," she said sadly, but there was hope in her eyes as she said. "They have that luxury thanks to _you_. The enemy could not follow and with time to doubt, we turn to blame." Her eyes drifted to where the advisers stood outside the tent, gathered around a small fire. She sighed, "Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus…"

"He did not follow?" Aislynn asked, setting aside the empty cup. "Do we know where he and his forces are?"

"We are not sure where _we_ are," Mother Giselle admitted. "Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sight of him. That," she turned her eyes to Aislynn's, "or you are believed dead."

Aislynn tucked her legs up under her chin, "They must know their endless arguing will get them nowhere…" she indicated her warring advisers.

"They know," said the Mother gently, "but this is much more complicated than you think. Our leaders struggle because of what we, as survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand—and fall." And her pointed gaze made Aislynn shiver, "And now we have seen her _return_. The more our enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained."

"I escaped the avalanche," Aislynn insisted. "Barely, but…I did not _die…_"

"Indeed," she agreed. "The dead cannot return from across the Veil, but…the people know what they _saw."_ Then a faint smile graced her lips, "Or, better yet, perhaps what they _needed_ to see. For the Maker works both in the moment and how it is remembered."

The elf shook her head, "I…want to believe that I was made for this—chosen. I want to believe that I can do some good, play some part in this world's destiny. But it didn't _help_ at Haven. We still…" she swallowed back the lump in her throat, "We still lost so many…" Turning her gaze to the warm eyes of Mother Giselle, she confessed, "I want to believe…but doubt is…_everywhere._" Without waiting for a response, Aislynn shrugged out of her blanket and limped out of the tent.

Her advisers had ceased arguing, for the moment, but what she saw of them made her wish they had still been ranting at each other. Leliana and Josephine sat together, hunched over, their expressions despondent, _defeated. _Cassandra was leaning over a makeshift table, poring over maps and strategies, books at her side—of what was salvaged from the Chantry. The Seeker's eyes were filled with a stubborn fire that Aislynn both admired and feared. And Cullen, off to the side, seemed restless as he paced, one arm grasping the hilt of his sword, the other rubbing the back of his neck and then his temples in turn, trying to come up with some sort of plan—_anything_ that could help.

And there was _nothing_ she could do to help them.

Aislynn felt the hopelessness of their situation settle on her slender shoulders. They had lost _everything_ at Haven. It had been their base for training, their center for strategic planning, their network for everything they had gained—every foothold they had so desperately struggled to achieve. And, now, it was gone. What was she compared to the endless months of work and toil they had endured—even before her miraculous survival at the Conclave?

She was about to turn away when a melodic voice beside her gave her pause:

"_Shadows fall, and hope has fled.  
>Steel your heart, the dawn will come…"<em>

The haunting melody, sung by Mother Giselle, was familiar, _fitting._ Aislynn smiled at the woman, raising her soft voice tentatively with the Mother's as the song continued:

"_The night is long, and the path is dark…"_

Josephine and Leliana raised their heads, as did others nearby. The spymaster raised her own clear, melodious voice to join in with the tune. Josephine followed, as did a few others—soldiers, mages, villagers, alike.

"_Look to the sky, for one day soon—the dawn will come._"

Cassandra sighed and let the papers curl back into neat rolls. Stepping away from the table, she joined the others. Aislynn's companions gathered round the lit fire and harmonized for the second verse.

"_The shepherd's lost and his home is far.  
>Keep to the stars, the dawn will come."<em>

Cullen watched the gathering crowd as the rest of the Inquisition moved from where they had been sitting in hopelessness to encircle the Herald and Mother Giselle. The relief he felt at seeing her awake gave him a small measure of the hope he had felt slipping through his fingers but a few minutes previous. He listened to their song. The tune was familiar and old…comforting in their time of darkness. He lifted his own voice to join the multitude singing:

"_The night is long and the path is dark,  
>Look to the sky, for one day soon—the dawn will come."<em>

Aislynn watched in awe as the multitude of followers crowded around her, kneeling in reverence to her as they sang, confidently, bravely, the third verse:

"_Bare your blade and raise it high.  
>Stand your ground, the dawn will come…<em>"

Her eyes took in the dead and dying, the wounded and the whole, in the camp, what little the people had possessed had been taken from them. And yet, here they were, those who were able. They _followed_ her. They _trusted_ her. They _believed_ in her. These men and women had fought and bled with her only hours previous. How could she lose faith? In herself, perhaps—but in them? _Never!_ They had come too far to be cast aside. There had to be another way, another chance.

She would find it. The Elder One be damned—she _would_ make a difference. The Inquisition _would_ succeed.

"_The night is long and the path is dark.  
>Look to the sky for one day soon—<em>

_**The dawn will come**__."_


	24. Snowballs and Skyhold

_Thanks a million times over to Wildfire99 for the document editing—definitely my favoritest beta fish ever— and to all those who reviewed for the last chapter. I know I always say this, but you guys ROCK! I'm so glad I get to do things like this._

**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**

"_By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it—changed _you_. Scout to the North. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build…grow…"_

"_You mean…like Haven?"_

"_Far better, even than Haven."_

"_Are you saying…there's just some…castle out there, in the middle of these mountains? Empty? Abandoned?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Solas…"_

"_If I'm wrong, and I most definitely am not, what have you got to lose? Already, these people have nothing, and they cannot remain in the shadow of these mountains for long. Corypheus is sure to return with a vengeance. This is no place for a fledgling organization—of any sort." _

"_Where do we—how do I—I mean, this is a giant leap of faith you're asking me to take." _

"_If I had the ability to show you more at this time, I would, lethallan."_

"_And then there's the matter of transporting the entire Inquisition. I haven't the first idea where this…this fortress is or even how to get there."_

"_I can show you the way. I know the fortress you seek. I've seen it."_

"_Oh, really? You've seen it?"_

"_I have."_

"_And you've actually _been_ there—the exact location?"_

"_Well…yes…and no. It was in the Fade…"_

"_Solas…"_

"_Aislynn, such a place truly exists. It is as real as the both of us standing here. I have _seen_ the path—I can _lead_ you there."_

"_Solas…"_

"_If you would but _trust_ me—"_

"_I must be daft after that bloody fall…but, very well. Let's go."_

"_Lethallan, it's—wait, beg pardon?"_

_**~oOo~**_

It had taken every ounce of persuasive ability that Aislynn possessed, but she had somehow managed to convince the advisers that Solas's proposal was the best course of action. Luckily enough, Cassandra trusted the hedge mage's word and little argument arose from her. The other three, however, posed a great deal of skepticism about the entire idea—and rightly so.

Solas aided in the explanation as much as he could, much to his companion's relief. Cullen and Leliana, especially, were apprehensive about the possibility of an uninhabited stronghold, but had little other opposition outside of the fact that they disbelieved its existence. In the end, the Inquisition had little other choice. It was either they risk the journey or remain sitting ducks for Corypheus's next move. While neither option was favorable, the safest risk was still to attempt the trek to Solas's mysterious "Fade fortress."

"You mean, we can go?" Aislynn asked at their agreement, unable to hide her shock.

Leliana shrugged helplessly, "Solas is right. We cannot stay here. If there is a chance, perhaps it is best if we took it."

Lost in thought beside the spymaster, Cullen shook his head, "I'm not convinced, but…it's _something._"

That was it—the matter was settled.

Their journey began the next morning.

Against the Commander's better judgment, Aislynn was allowed to assist in preparations for the trip. Naturally, there were stipulations—she couldn't lift anything too heavy, she wasn't allowed to wander too far away from the camp, and she was not under any circumstance to move the wagons.

"Commander, you can't be serious," her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she glared at him. "I'm more than capable of pulling my share."

"I don't doubt that," he agreed. "But, and I'm not sure if you've forgotten, but you nearly died last night."

"Yes, well I'm still quite alive, as you can see."

He towered over her as he matched her defiance with a sternness of his own."You'll undo everything the healers just redid." She had glared petulantly at him and his less than eloquent statement and had thought to continue her argument, but he had quickly turned away and buried himself in his own work before he could hear more of her protests.

So what could she do? There were tents and tables and campfires and plenty of...menial...things for her to attend to. She sighed, _It's better than doing nothing at all, I suppose…_

Awestruck villagers bowed as she passed, murmuring thanks to her for the small things she was permitted to do. Their reverence still unnerved her. In her eyes, nothing had changed. But since her miraculous return, their behavior towards her had taken a drastic turn—perhaps for the better, but no less unsettling to the Herald. Being an elf, she was used to a measure of derision as most people of other races were not prone to take her kind seriously. Being the center of venerated attention, however, was an attention she could hardly fathom. These were the same people she bled with and fought Corypheus with—she should be bowing to _them._

The soldiers, especially, seemed in complete admiration of her and were eager to please her—full of "At once, Herald," and "Of course, m'lady," while bowing, smiling—but the young men were the worst with their feats of strength: "Allow me, Herald," and "I can take that for you, my lady." Aislynn allowed them to assist her, feeling her face flush crimson from equal part embarrassment and gratefulness. _This may cause problems for a certain Commander I know if this persists…_ but she wasn't entirely displeased at the thought, either.

_Speaking of Commander…_ Aislynn frowned as she caught another of Cullen's recruits rushing in to lift the crates she had been about to move. A personal dispatch of his had been following her around camp—aside from the other admiring soldiers—at his order to ensure she did not strain herself, and she had become quite irritated with their hovering. _I'm not made of glass,_ she sighed grumpily, casting an angry glare at the Commander's turned back. _I mean, I survived an avalanche. I can't possibly be as delicate as he's treating me…_ Hiding her slight limp stubbornly, the effects of her still healing muscle from the previous night, she stomped to where others were dismantling tents, determined to contribute to the journey whether the worried Commander liked it or not.

"Darling, don't lift that, you'll sprain your pinky finger," Dorian drawled as she folded a tent canvas.

Aislynn glowered at him, "Not you too…"

"Quite the contrary, you'll be pleased to know," he said, pulling her attention away from the tents. "If you'd just step this way and direct your attention to the…_left,_" and he slipped her gracefully into some shadows, "you'll notice the distinct presence of…well, actually, you won't." He laughed, "No presence at all. No Commanders here."

Aislynn chuckled with him, grateful for the diversion. "You've made one small error, my dear Dorian."

"Me? Error?" he put on an astonished face.

She nodded, her face reflecting mock seriousness, "I'm absolutely _no use_ here." Raising empty palms, she shrugged, "I'm not helping them pack—not even a little bit."

Dorian considered this for a moment, twirling his moustache, before conceding, "You're absolutely right. But admit it—it feels nice to be invisible."

Aislynn took in the small cave, smiling at the darkness and releasing a slow, relieved breath. It was nice being hidden away from the "my ladys" and "Heralds" that everyone was so fond of using. And it was a bit of a reprieve not being under the scope of the Commander's over-protective radar.

The handsome mage whistled a silly tune and started walking away, "When you've had your fill of being invisible, please _do_ come out. I'd hate to have to watch that poor man carry you up this mountain again. Actually, perhaps that _could_ be rather enjoyable…" Dorian chortled to himself and strolled away, blending easily back in with the bustling camp.

Aislynn leaned against the wall of the small cave, appreciating the muted quiet away from the others. She hated to admit it, but she was dreadfully sore—her muscles, her head, her _being_ ached from the previous night's strain—and the reprieve from trying to look busy was most welcome. From the shadows, she observed the Inquisition—or what was left of it after the attack. Those who were unable to walk were carefully placed into what few wagons and carts they had been able to scavenge before all hell broke loose during the attack.

Lined along the side of the mountain were a few wooden crosses bearing the names of those they had lost during the night and the trek through the pass. It almost seemed wrong to leave their bodies behind. After such a valiant struggle against unbeatable odds, it almost shamed their memory to leave their bodies in the bitter cold of the wild mountain under scantily marked graves. She knew Chancellor Roderick's name was on one of those crosses and she couldn't help but wonder how much worse it would have been without his help to escape. He had saved them, in the end.

Another deep breath in, another slow release…Aislynn shut her eyes for one more long moment, preparing herself for another round of frustration before the Inquisition's eventual departure. Glancing both ways to make sure she did not collide with any passersby, the elf took a few brave steps out of the cave, then was stopped almost immediately by the sound of—

"My lady Herald!"

_Here we go, again…_

_**~oOo~**_

"My boots are _ruined_!" grumbled Dorian—again.

"Oh, come off it," Sera groaned. "We get it, wet boots, cold feet—waaah!"

The mage growled, "These are Orlesian Snouffler boots, I'll have you know."

The blond elf giggled, rolling her eyes at how miffed he was,, "Snouffler…like snuffler. You're all sniffles and whines, aren't you."

The refugees of the Inquisition had been traveling for nearly three days, their progress slowed only by the procession of caravans laden with supplies and those unable to make the journey on foot. They were cold, they were weary, they were sore; tempers and frustrations were flaring from a culmination of all three factors, at least among those whose boots were so unfortunately ruined.

Solas approached the two bickering comrades from behind, trudging through the knee-deep snow with a look of disgust on his face, "Have either of you seen the Herald?"

"Yeah, we seen 'er," Sera responded nonchalantly, kicking up snow at Dorian. The dark haired mage cursed and brushed his robe free of the small flakes while Solas trailed behind them, expectantly. The elfin mage's brows furrowed in impatience, however, when no explanation was forthcoming,

"And?"

"Whot?" the blond elf turned to him with a sneer, "An' whot?"

"Where is she?" asked Solas through clenched teeth, thinking if her impertinence continued he might have to—Creators help him—bludgeon her to death with his staff.

Carelessly, the rogue shrugged, "Oh, I dunno _that_."

Solas threw up his arms, "Of course. I should have known better than to ask _you._"

"Yup," she agreed, readily. "Better me than ol' stick in your arse, though," she giggled again and threw a fistful of snow at Dorian.

The Tevinter mage fumed, "Why the bloody—have you got _no one _else to annoy?"

"Nope."

Dorian sighed, "Solas, if you don't mind the extra company, I'll help you find little miss invisible."

The elfin mage merely nodded his agreement and the two men left Sera alone to pout. She wasn't alone for long, however, when Aislynn suddenly scampered to her side.

"Hold this," she said, shoving a snowball into Sera's hand and quickly grasping another fistful of the fluffy, white powder. Sera caught on immediately and snorted a laugh.

"I'm _so_ in!" and she started balling up her own small arsenal.

Arms full, Aislynn peered over her shoulder and whispered, "I'm hiding from the Commander. He wanted me to ride in one of the wagons—thinks I'll tear my shoulder again."

Still sniggering, Sera shook her head, "Last I saw, he was way in the back 'commandering' stuff."

"Let's go!"

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen had just about heard enough of Cassandra and Varric's bickering. He had been helpless to retreat from it, however, nearly half of him submerged in snow in order to fix another broken wheel on one of the wagons. Even his troops had been at each other's throats. Sighing heavily, he leaned back on his heels and ran a gloved hand over his face. He hadn't expected the journey to be easy, but he hadn't been prepared for the emotional turmoil.

Then again, after what everyone had experienced, he should have expected no less.

That, and the Herald was obviously peeved with him.

He stood and informed the driver that the wagon was ready for use then moved aside to ensure that no others needed assistance. He felt as though he had been repairing things for three straight days, and while it was a nice diversion from paperwork, it was still more trouble than it was worth. Cullen trudged up the rest of the hill and observed the long line of what was left of the refugees.

His brows furrowed and he sighed impatiently when he scanned the long line of refugees and caught no sight of Aislynn. The last thing he needed was for the Herald of Andraste to reinjure herself again and further demoralize the sorry state of the Inquisition.

But, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he wasn't worried about her for the sake of the Inquisition—at all.

The fear he felt when she turned away from him the final time before leaving the Chantry in Haven… he couldn't face that again. And when Cassandra had told him she had died…

Cullen wrenched his eyes away from his attempt to search for her. Perhaps it was better to avoid meeting her for the rest of the day. As it were, he wasn't sure he would be able to stand another of her angry glares. Not that they were intimidating, because they weren't. The fact that she was _trying_ to be intimidating seemed to have the opposite effect—at least on him. It was _adorable_ and he couldn't take her seriously. Rather than reveal that to her, as he most assuredly would through some strange blunder, he decided to camouflage himself as best as he could amidst his troops.

He succeeded until a barrage of snowballs spattered into the ranks.

The sullen faces of the soldiers transformed to expressions of shock as they swatted at the incoming snowballs. Recovering quickly and laughing at the ambush, they ducked and dodged the incoming ammunition, quickly balling up their own for retribution. The troops weren't sure where the first attack had initiated, so snowballs were flying every which way amongst themselves. The small chortles of the troops' laughter had grown into full fledged shouts and guffaws when, suddenly, over the ridge, came two insane elves, flinging snowballs as quickly as they could roll them.

Aislynn dove into the thick of it, laughing with the others as snowballs flew helter-skelter. She was recognized immediately by the troops, but her exuberance undermined their tendency for reverence.

Sera was on her way to dump a hand full of snow down her companion's neck just as Aislynn suddenly ducked and a ball of white came flying over her shoulder. "Oy! Watch it!" shouted Sera after getting a face full of snow.

The elf beside her giggled and tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder as she tried to flank a particular recruit. The boy caught sight of her intent and tossed a snowball. She leapt to catch it but it had arced just a little too far out of reach as she slipped, instead, and collapsed on her back in a fit of laughter, almost tripping another soldier. When she looked up to apologize to the man into whom she had nearly collided, her laugh caught in her throat.

"C-Commander Cullen," she gulped.

Inquisitive brown eyes met hers as he crossed his arms, "I thought I asked you to ride in the wagon…"

Aislynn sat up and mimicked his action, scowling at him defiantly, "I don't want to go for a ride in the cart."

"I never asked if you did," he retorted with a chuckle, helping her to her feet.

She thanked him and dusted off her leathers. When she looked up to meet his gaze, she saw a quirk of a smile on his lips as he pointed to her hair. Laughing, she shook the powder from her tangled locks and turned bashful eyes to the still staring Commander.

After a bit of an awkward pause, he added with a hint of amusement, "I can't believe, after all you've been through, that you can still love snow this much."

Her eyes widened, "It's glorious—you should see the snow angels we made."

"Snow angels?" he shook his head but couldn't help the pleased grin from spreading across his face.

"So…" she cocked her head to the side a bit, her voice hesitant, "do I still have to ride in the cart?"

He tsked in mock disapproval, "Stubborn…" and her almost innocent shrug made him chuckle, "No, I suppose you don't."

Her brilliant smile was the most rewarding thing he'd seen all day. Nervous, all of a sudden, he scratched the back of his neck and opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Solas and Dorian whisked her away.

"Darling, you wouldn't believe what I've been through to find you," Dorian said, at her elbow, pulling her away. "Have you _seen_ these boots?"

"His boots aside," Solas growled, "I have something you very much need to see."

Aislynn disappeared with them just over the ridge and Cullen's smile disappeared, replaced by a grimace. _What does she see in that bloody Tevinter?_ he thought, ducking from another snowball. _They're always together—how long has she known him? Can he even be truly trusted?_ Disgusted, he stomped farther ahead of his troops, trying to escape from the maze of playful smiles and scampering bodies. _Maker's breath…but this journey won't end a moment too soon…_

"Commander!" a scout shouted to him a few minutes later, barreling towards him down the hill. "Commander, you must come see!"

Cullen stepped to the side as the scout slipped a bit and staggered to catch himself. When had stopped sliding, He lifted a snow encased glove to his forehead in an awkward salute. Cullen sighed and nodded acknowledgement, "Report."

"The Herald asked me to fetch you, ser—said it was important."

"What is important?"

"Skyhold—the mountain fortress, ser—it's just ahead."


	25. Your Inquisitor

_Anyone catch the Monty Python quote in the last chapter? Yes? No? C'mon guys, I'm giving out air guitars and my beachside estate in Arizona to the winner at the end. ;) Ha…Okay, just kidding. Chapter 25 is a great deal of story canon as this is a milestone chapter. Reviews always welcome—and thanks again for reading!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

_Maker, _but it was magnificent.

Skyhold stood as a solitary sentinel high in the mountains, its battlements high and impenetrable, surrounding completely the magnanimous fortress. The fortress itself was constructed solidly, its excellent masonry built to withstand even the strongest of attacks. Towers were placed intermittently on the battlements. Causeways connected those battlements to the Keep and melded with other spiraling and skillfully built towers that rose upward to reach the very heavens.

Due to age and abuse, a few of the towers and part of the inner court had begun to crumble, but the foundation was strong. Debris littered the courtyard and bailey, strewn from the gatehouse to the stables and throughout the Keep. It would take a great deal of labor and time, but the repairs could be done. Already, the people were working diligently to turn the abandoned Keep into a home.

_Home... _

Aislynn leaned against the wooden doorframe of one of the towers and observed the bustling people around her. For a little over a week, their efforts had been endless in order to make the fortress as livable as possible with what few resources they had. She had, as had her other advisers, slept precious little in order to ensure the comfort of the others traveling with her. Stones had to be moved from the open areas and pathways, tents and temporary buildings had to be erected for use of both the villagers and the craftsmen, stalls had to be cleared for what livestock had been herded, and preparations had to be made for the Fortress to be properly rebuilt.

It _had_ to be rebuilt, for their numbers were _growing_.

Word had already spread of the Inquisition's victory over the Breach and the Herald's miraculous return from the ruins of Haven. Skyhold had become a destination for pilgrimages and volunteers, soldiers and villagers, nobles and commoners alike. These people threw themselves into the efforts of restoring Skyhold with the fervor of their devotion.

And, yet, there was still so much to do...

From the doorway, the elf caught sight of her three advisers and Cassandra in conference with each other. She couldn't help but smile at them for they all seemed in perfect agreement—a rare occurrence these days. After all they had been through and what they had yet to face, she was just relieved to see them standing there at all.

Just as she was about to walk away, Cassandra caught sight of her and waved for her to join them. Tentative steps carried the elf to the tall woman's side as the three advisers scattered, leaving the elf and the Seeker to walk alone.

Cassandra lifted a hand and swept brusquely to indicate the bustling bailey, full of faces new and old, "They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One." She spared a glance at the elf beside her before continuing. "We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated." Together, they climbed the stone steps leading up to the Keep proper, and the Seeker's words continued, hope in her tone, "But, we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you."

The elf lifted her marked hand, not quite able to hide the frustration in her voice as she spoke, "He came for _this,_ and now, since it cannot be removed, it is useless to him. He wants me dead." Her eyes were hard, "That's it."

Undeterred, Cassandra responded, "The Anchor has power, but it is not why you're still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky; your determination brought us out of Haven." At the flush of embarrassment on Aislynn's face, the Seeker continued with even more vehemence, "_You_ are the creature's rival because of what _you_ did—and we know it, all of us."

They reached the second landing overlooking the outer court where Leliana stood solemnly. In her hands rested a sword, exquisitely fashioned and gleaming in the sunlight. The Seeker and the Herald stopped and Aislynn felt the anxious butterflies in her stomach and the constriction in her throat as a crowd gathered below. She knew the direction Cassandra was taking and the very thought of it stole her breath and shredded her confidence. _Creators, help me…_

"The Inquisition requires a leader—the one who has _already _been leading it." There was a pause as Aislynn glanced from the spymaster to the Seeker, waiting for the answer she already knew, but hoped would not be. "_You_," finished Cassandra, stepping to Leliana's side and awaiting the elf's response.

Aislynn gulped audibly and stared at the proffered sword, her heart hammering fiercely in her chest. She could hear the murmurs of the gathered crowd as though they were far in the distance; but, she was acutely aware of the burning intensity of their eyes on her, _waiting_ for her, and it made her shudder.

_This is the moment…_ she thought, breaths short, hands shaking. _Hope is the thing with feathers… can it also be the thing that leads?_ She stammered quietly to Cassandra, "Are you sure this is what they need? It's unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief and her eyes conveyed her fear as her emerald eyes searched the Seeker's intense ones.

"All of these people have their lives because of you. They _will_ follow," the dark haired woman insisted.

"Cassandra…"

"I cannot pretend that there will be no objections, and handing this power to anyone is troubling, but times are changing. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended," she insisted. "There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve—how you will _lead_—that will be yours to decide."

The elf drew in a ragged breath as her trembling hand reached out to grasp the hilt of the blade. The weight of the sword weighed heavily on her shoulders in the form of the responsibility that she would wear as leader of the Inquisition. She did not hold simply a _sword_—not anymore. Now, in her slender hands, she held the lives of the people who followed her, the direction of the Inquisition's future, and the decisions that would determine their victory or defeat as their very organization wavered upon a razor's thin edge. _So much power…so much responsibility…_ Her eyes scanned the crowd beneath her and saw their hope, their excitement, and their _trust._

That alone scared her more than even Corypheus had…

_So, an elf will stand for us all…_ she thought, steeling her resolve and raising the sword to catch the glint of the morning sun. A voice she barely recognized as hers responded, "Corypheus will never let us live in peace; he made that clear. He intends to be a god—to rule over us all." Confidence and determination replaced the trepidation as she vowed, "Corypheus _must_ be stopped."

"Wherever you lead," Cassandra nodded in approval, stepping to the edge of the landing and addressing the masses below. Her voice resounded triumphantly in her question, "Have our people been told?"

Josephine, mingled with the people below, stepped forward in response, her eyes bright and hopeful, "They have; and soon, the _world!_"

"Commander," the Seeker called, "will they follow?"

Rather than respond to her, Cullen strode to the fore of the crowd, his voice strong and his eyes ablaze, "Inquisition," he addressed the people, his presence exuding confidence and power, "will you follow?" and the resounding cheers melted Aislynn's growing unease. "Will you fight?" the cheers increased. "Will you triumph?" and the deafening roars confirmed the question that had been posed.

Cullen drew his sword and a fierce smile lit his face, "Your leader, your Herald," and he brandished his weapon high as he shouted above the cheers of the people, "Your Inquisitor!"

_**~oOo~**_

The inner Keep, though still strewn with debris and in great disarray, held great promise for the advisers and their newly appointed Inquisitor as they gathered together in the center of what had once been a grand hall. Cullen's lips quirked into a smile as he mused, "So this is where it begins…"

Leliana lifted her bright eyes to meet his, "It began in the courtyard. _This_ is where we turn that promise into action."

"But what do we do?" asked Josephine, her board and quill in hand. "We know nothing of this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark."

Aislynn clenched her fist, hiding the glowing, ethereal flame as she wondered aloud, "Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter. Is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?"

The Commander shook his head, "I get the feeling that we're dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion."

"Tevinter is _not_ the Imperium of a thousand years ago," added the Ambassador. "What Corypheus yearns to restore no longer exists; though," and at this her brows quirked in only minor amusement, "they would shed no tears if the South were to fall to chaos, I'm certain."

"Corypheus also said he wanted to enter the Black City—that this would make him a god," Leliana interjected. "He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won't matter if he's wrong."

"What if he's _not_ wrong," Cullen posed as momentary devil's advocate. "What if he finds some other way into the Fade?"

The spymaster's eyes grew dark, "Then he gains the power he seeks or unleashes catastrophe on us all. Either way will end up disastrously for all of Thedas."

"And his dragon?" asked Aislynn. "If it is an archdemon, what would that mean?"

Both Cullen and Leliana exchanged solemn, knowing glances, but it was the spymaster who answered, "It would mean the beginning of another Blight…"

Josephine shook her head, "We have seen no other darkspawn other than Corypheus, himself. Perhaps it is not an archdemon at all, but…something different?"

"Whatever it is," Cullen sighed, "it's dangerous. Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we _can't_ ignore."

Aislynn released a long breath and shook her head. They knew so little yet were faced with _so_ _much_. If anything, Corypheus's advantage lay in the fact that he _knew_ more. As instigator of the trouble they faced, he alone had answers that none of them were even capable of broaching. Brushing back wisps of hair from her face, the elf murmured, "Someone out there must know _something_ about him…"

"Unless they saw him on the field," Cullen responded darkly, "most will not believe he even exists."

The spymaster masked a confident smile under the darkness of her hood. "We have an advantage—we _know_ what Corypheus intends to do next." Her cunning eyes lifted to meet Aislynn's, "In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

Absolutely mortified, Josephine gasped, "Imagine the chaos her death would cause! With his army—"

"An army that he would bolster with a massive force of demons," spat Cullen, his voice lowering, "or so the future tells us."

"—Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god," finished the Ambassador with no small amount of worry.

Leliana sighed, her shoulders drooping, "I'd feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with…" speaking for everyone in the room with that single statement.

Before Aislynn could respond, a voice from the entryway of the Keep lifted cheerfully, "I know someone who can help with that."

The elf smiled as Varric strode forward to where they were gathered, a roguish smile on his face. The advisers turned to face him as he approached. Flippantly, the dwarf raised his hands and shoulders in a quick shrug as he spoke, "Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message…to an old friend. He's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. He can help."

When none of the others spoke, Aislynn was brought back to the realization that the major decisions were now on _her _shoulders and she felt her mouth go dry. Clearing her throat, she nodded to Varric hoping desperately her voice did not squeak, "We can always use more allies. Can you introduce us?"

His gaze, shifting askance, gave the elf pause, and his response confirmed her nagging doubts, "Parading around might cause a…fuss. It's better for you to meet privately." He did not miss the exchanged glances between the Ambassador and the Spymaster so he sighed, "On the battlements—tomorrow night. Trust me, it's…complicated."

Aislynn watched him go with no small amount of unease wrangling in the pit of her stomach. _So much to do…_ She rubbed her temples with a trembling hand as Josephine scribbled on the board she carried.

"Well," she smiled, "we stand ready to move on both of these concerns."

"On your order, Inquisitor," Cullen said with a confident grin.

Leliana shook her head with a ghost of a smile, "I know one thing…if Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him…"

Aislynn glanced quizzically at the pale woman beside her. She knew tensions were high between the Seeker and the Storyteller—that much had been obvious the first moment she saw them together at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Still, who would be so important as to cause such dissension? The elf pushed the question aside, knowing she would find out soon enough either way.

Dismissing himself with a bow, Cullen went to rejoin the rest of his troops in clearing out the rubble throughout Skyhold. Camping in the courtyard and main bailey had been sufficient for the week, but it would soon become too crowded to accommodate the influx of people seeking to join the Inquisition's ranks. He hoped to have at least the Keep and its adjoining towers cleared for use by the end of the next week.

Josephine quickly disappeared into a small candle-lit corner to compose letters. With the knowledge of Corypheus's next move, she needed to gain as much information about Empress Celene and the civil war in Orlais as she could. While she could feasibly suspect dozens of people surrounding the Empress to be party to Corypheus's scheme, the Inquisition could not stage its counter attack until they knew their target with a certainty.

Once everyone else was out of earshot, the Spymaster drew Aislynn aside into the shadows, "I have a…request, if you will, Inquisitor."

The elf nodded acknowledgement and Leliana continued.

"Ordinarily, I would not worry so, but the timing is…suspicious," she murmured, a grimace replacing her stoic features. "After what happened at the Conclave, I received word that the Grey Wardens had all gone missing. Thedas is in no danger of a Blight, and Grey Wardens typically _do_ disappear while in times of peace, but…all at once? It seems something that should be looked into."

Aislynn felt her heart grow cold, "Wait…_all_ of theGrey Wardens?"

A saucy voice answered from the Keep door, its bearer leaning casually against the doorpost, arms crossed, and chuckling at the flabbergasted faces of the Inquisitor and the Spymaster, "Not _all_ of them…"


	26. For Me?

_OMG! Over 10,000 views! _

_Yes, I know. Bad—very bad. I've strayed completely from the game canon. Big change from last chapter. You'll be pleased, though, when you get to the end of the chapter, I think. Enjoy! Reviews and everything else still welcome!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Silence fell across the hall as both Leliana and Aislynn stared at the hooded figure in the doorway with no small amount of wonder. If Aislynn hadn't been so surprised herself, she would have found the spymaster's lack of poise hilarious. But as it were…

"Oh, come now, is that any greeting for the Queen of Ferelden?" chuckled the stranger, sashaying from the doorway and into the hall.

"It seems you've rendered them absolutely speechless, _mia caro_," said a blond haired elf peering into the Keep and then moving to stand with the other. "And after all these years," he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

Aislynn was the first to regain her senses, rushing towards the hooded intruder with a cry of joy, "Karia!"

They met in the middle of the grand hall and pulled each other in a warm embrace. After a moment, the Queen removed her hood revealing auburn hair and flashing green eyes to match the Inquisitor's. Her smile was warm, albeit somewhat weary as she sighed, "It's so good to see you. It's been too long."

Leliana swooped in then, puling the elf Queen into a quick hug, "Karia, you surprised me. I did not know you would be coming."

"I got your raven—Baron Plucky, is it?—and decided it would be better to come than write ahead of my intentions."

Aislynn flitted to the other elf's side and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Zevran! I've missed you!"

"Of course you have," he chuckled, returning the embrace. "Who wouldn't miss a dashing rogue like me?"

She arched a brow, "I have a friend who would just _love_ you, I think…"

"The darling, innocent, young cousin has apparently grown into her matchmaking skills," Zevran chortled. "While I'm sure you have lovely taste, please forgive my reservations."

Karia brushed a hand through her tangled hair and took a deep breath, interrupting before her cousin could argue, "So, Aislynn, I hear you've become the Inquisitor?"

The younger elf's eyes widened, "You…wait, I didn't think word got around _that_ quickly—it only just happened!"

"Blame your dear spymaster," she winked at Leliana. "This plot has been in the works for quite some time, I assure you."

The red haired woman smiled, "I am surprised you can still understand those coded messages."

"Leli, it may have been ten years since our last adventure, but we _are_ close friends and I can still understand your silly codes," teased the Queen.

"What she means to say," interjected the handsome Zevran, "is that she missed you and hoped you would write more often."

Leliana shook her head, smiling, "If only I could."

"Which brings us back to why you can't," Karia said, her tone becoming more serious. "You're not the only one who has noted the Grey Wardens' disappearance. We've taken account of it at the capitol, as well. I was recently at Weisshaupt and, while a few remain, the numbers are but a fraction of what they should be."

The spymaster crossed her arms, "What would pull that many Wardens into hiding?"

"I doubt that they are 'hiding.'" Karia's brows furrowed. "The only reason I could think of was the Calling—but for that many Wardens? It's rather improbable."

"We also have reports on another Warden in the area by the name of Blackwall. Do you know him?"

The Queen thought for a moment, "I…know _of_ him. I've never met him personally."

"In the area? Where?" asked the Inquisitor, "Perhaps we can find him—maybe he'll know something."

"That is precisely what I was hoping," Leliana confessed. "My scouts reported his last sighting in the Hinterlands near Lake Luthian."

Glancing at the Inquisitor beside her, Karia asked, "You would not be opposed to my joining your search, would you? This is a matter that affects me rather personally, and I'd like to see it through."

Leaning into another hug, Aislynn smiled, "I'd be delighted."

Just then, the Commander and another recruit entered the Hall from a side door within the Keep, hefting a massive boulder—likely the result of a trebuchet attack before Skyhold's abandonment. They passed through the center of the hall where everyone was gathered and Cullen allowed himself a quick glance at—

"M-my Lady!" he exclaimed, dropping his end of the boulder. The recruit shouted in fright and backed away as the stone fell solidly on the floor at his feet. He groused at Cullen, but the Commander was oblivious as he bowed to the Queen.

Karia smiled warmly, "Cullen, please." Missing Aislynn's shocked expression, she continued, "It's been…quite some time, hasn't it? You knew me before I was Queen. I'd…rather like it if you would treat me as that same person."

Catching his breath, he smiled nervously and straightened himself out, "The Hero and Queen of Ferelden arrives _here _unexpectedly…what else would I do, my lady?"

Her eyes were distant as she glanced him over, "I suppose I would expect nothing less of the great Commander of the Inquisition, after all." But her smile remained genuine. "You look well, Cullen."

"As…as do you, m'lady…" he gulped.

Aislynn watched the two of them with a growing, gnawing suspicion—and a hint of an even stronger emotion that surprised her more than it should have: jealousy. "How…do you two know each other?"

Cullen flushed and he shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck—his unconquerable nervous habit. But Karia was the one who answered, "We met ten years ago at Kinloch Hold, the mage circle in Lake Calenhad. I tried to keep in touch, but he was transferred to Kirkwall soon after."

The grateful smile he gave to Karia was not missed by Aislynn and she cleared her throat to ask, "Why were you at the Circle?" It was all she could do to keep the suspicion from her voice.

"We needed the mages' help with the Blight," the Queen answered, simply.

Unconvinced, but too overwhelmed to pursue the matter, Aislynn shrugged and put on her impish smile, "I suppose if you're going to be traveling with us, you should meet my companions. They're outside. Shall we?"

_**~oOo~**_

"And then, our illustrious leader throws herself onto the balcony and shouts at the top of her lungs, 'If you want to keep your family jewels, you'll do as I say!' The poor man wasn't sure _which_ jewels she was screaming about at that point, so he _threw_ the dungeon key and the goods he had stolen on the floor and ran away as quickly as he could," Leliana was nearly doubled over laughing. "So then she runs to me and her eyes are wide open and she squeaks, 'Leli! Look!' and there where he was standing was big puddle of…well," and she snorted. "You know."

Zevran chuckled, "The poor noble wet himself for fear of our little leader's threats."

Blushing furiously, Karia covered her face with her hands, "I can't believe you remember that…"

"And how could we forget—with that dreadful smell! If I remember correctly, your dog _rolled_ in it afterwards and Wynne had to wash him every night for a _week!"_ Leliana was gasping for breath at this point and Karia only bowed her head in even more embarrassment.

Sera was on the ground, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe, "Your big ol' mabari rolled in pish?" she guffawed even louder. "I'll have to use _that_ on our bloody rich tits."

The dwarf leaned forward, "Now about the King. This one here," and he winked at Aislynn, "saw him at Redcliffe and said she _knew_ him. I want to know _your_ story."

"Varric," Karia said with mock suspicion, "you've already immortalized the Hero of Ferelden in a tale that is greatly exaggerated beyond reason. Why would I give you another chance to immortalize my love life?"

He waved a hand dismissively, "Because, the book's already out; wouldn't do any good to revise it now."

"Although," Aislynn added dryly, "he may or may not add your story to _Swords and Shields._"

"You're still sore about that one, aren't you," the storyteller chortled.

"I don't believe _she_ is the sore party," Dorian twirled his mustache, "as much as the Commander. Gossip about that chase circulated the barracks _long_ after I arrived."

"The Commander?" Karia raised a brow and cocked her head, elbowing her side teasingly, "Pray tell, cousin."

And then it was Aislynn's turn to blush.

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen's boots thudded on the stone floor in one of the battlement towers, the sound echoing in the empty space. Heaving a sigh, he glanced up past the great hole in the ceiling to the glimmering stars beyond. His gaze caught a ladder erected to reach the second story and he climbed up. While the hole in the floor was minor, the hole in the ceiling was wide enough for several to sit abreast, comfortably. The idea struck him as pleasant and he moved from the landing to the jagged opening. Gingerly, he settled himself on the ledge and opened the letter he had received earlier that day. He already knew whom it was from by the scrawl on the front of the envelope and he couldn't quite stop his smile as he read it:

"_Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen."_

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again! If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine Commander survived Haven._

_We've been hearing strange things about the Templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister (see how easy this is?)_

_Mia_

He folded the parchment along its previous edges gingerly, being careful not to smear the letters. Mia always seemed to sense when he purposely omitted something—or when something was troubling him. _Must be a sister thing,_ he thought, pulling out the quill, ink, and parchment he had stashed on his person earlier that day.

Below, he could see the campfire where Aislynn and her companions—and the Queen of Ferelden—were gathered, sharing stories and laughs. It had been far too long since he had seen Leliana smile and it pleased him that she had been reunited with someone that could coax such things from her. A surge of gratefulness flooded his being remembering how the Queen had tactfully evaded sharing his secret and he covered his face with a gloved hand.

_Ten years and still haunting my every waking moment…_

Cullen pushed the thoughts away and spared another glance at the gathering below, or rather, the barefoot elf, twirling in the firelight to Varric's lute. He smiled when she pulled Leliana up with her for a quick reel and laughed when they collapsed in a heap, tripping over Sera's legs. He couldn't believe how her eyes sparkled like that—like gems—when she laughed and the cute way her nose scrunched at her companion's jokes. Part of him wished he could be down there; the other part…

With a resigned sigh, he dotted the tip of the quill in the ink and turned away from the merriment down below.

_Dear Mia,_

_I'm still alive…_

_**~oOo~**_

Morning found Aislynn and her companions in the inner Keep, hefting beams for the roof and clearing out the undercroft and adjoining wings. Sweat beaded the elf's pale face and she wiped the excess from her eyes with her dusty sleeve. They had been working since before dawn and had barely made a dent in the repairs. Josephine had instructed that they set aside the rubble just in case the masons she hired would need them for rebuilding once they arrived. Aislynn took a moment to breathe, casting a weary glance around her at what was left to be done. Most of what the volunteers could do was finished and the actual restoration would begin the moment Josephine's professionals arrived. _Thank goodness for small mercies,_ she thought with a grin.

Letting Varric know she would be back in a few minutes, she headed down the steps of the Keep towards the well. At the first landing, she smiled, hearing a familiar voice barking orders as usual.

"Send men to scout the area," The Commander pointed to a region on the map. "We need to know what's out there." Two recruits nodded and left immediately while he continued to pore over the map and his next strategies.

A third recruit appeared at his side, standing erect as he addressed his commanding officer, "Commander, the soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters."

Cullen acknowledged the recruit with a nod before turning back to his paperwork, "Good. I'll need an update on the armory as well." The recruit hesitated for a moment and nearly jumped out of his skin at the Commander's sharp, "Now!"And then he was racing to just as he had been told. If he hadn't been so weary, Cullen might have laughed. But as it were, he could spare little effort outside keeping his forces standing—and himself, for that matter. _So much to do…_

"Commander," Aislynn greeted, stepping from the stairs to the damp earth and moving to stand beside him.

He acknowledged her presence with a slight nod, the exhaustion reflected in his eyes also reflected in his posture. A gloved hand ran through his blond hair as he spoke, "We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning we might have—"

"Cullen, do you ever sleep?" Aislynn interrupted his report with a soft chuckle.

The man ignored her jest, his eyes hardening, "If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw…and I wouldn't want to. We _must_ be ready." Indicating the fortress layout on his desk, he continued, "Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established—we should have everything on course within the week." Steely brown eyes met hers as he finished, "We will _not_ run from here, Inquisitor."

Aislynn shivered at the sound of her title…or rather the sound of her title on his lips. Whatever ground she had gained towards his friendship seemed to be slipping through her fingers as she watched the man become the Commander…and _only_ that. He averted his eyes again and she got the distinct impression that he _could not_ look at her, rather than _would_ not, and she wasn't sure if she felt relief or even more dejection. After a moment, she asked, "How many did we lose at Haven?"

"Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It…could have been worse." He seemed to be warring with himself as he leaned over the table, gripping its edges with his gloved hands. She could almost imagine his knuckles turning white at how fiercely he was holding it. Without relinquishing his grip, Cullen turned his head slightly to face her, "Morale was low but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."

Hoping to make him smile, she mused aloud, letting her lilting accent touch each syllable, "Inquisitor Lavellan…sounds odd, don't you think?"

"Not at all," he responded quickly.

"Is that the…_official_…response?" she winced, feeling strangely uneasy about the answer.

He laughed. That warm, deep rumble calmed her nerves more than she wanted to admit and she smiled. His brown eyes moved to meet hers, then, and she sighed as Cullen—just Cullen, and _not_ the Commander—spoke. "I suppose it is, but it _is_ the truth." Finally, his death grip on the table loosened and he straightened to face her directly, "_We_ needed a leader, and _you_ have proven yourself."

The intensity of his gaze stripped her of her confident mask. She _stammered_, "Th-thank you, Cullen…" Fidgeting with a stray lock of hair, twirling it between the fingers of a trembling hand, she continued, knowing that if she _didn't_ speak now then she never would, "Our escape from Haven was…" she hesitated, feeling his gaze on her. It unnerved her how intently he watched her movements: how she fidgeted, how she shifted from one foot to the other. Even she knew how unusual her behavior was, only she couldn't help it. Gathering her courage, she sighed, "It was close. I-I'm relieved that you…" and then it was her turn to avoid his gaze, her teeth grazing her lower lip momentarily before she finished, "that…_so many_ made it out."

"As am I," was his soft, nearly inaudible reply. Aislynn forced her eyes to look back up at him, but his gaze had lowered and he was staring at the ground, seemingly lost in thought, a worried expression knitting together his brows.

Her heart was pounding in her chest so quickly and so heavily, she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. The intensity of the feeling that overcame her stole her breath and clouded her mind—she needed to go. She needed to _escape._ Aislynn turned to move—to flee—but a hand caught her arm and a gentle, almost tremulous voice turned her back:

"You stayed behind…You could have…" Cullen's eyes were intense as they gazed into hers, not willing to finish what they both knew _could have_ happened.

For the first time, Aislynn realized what it was that troubled him. He was _afraid. _Afraid for _her. _After all, who was it that was constantly battling for her safety around the war table? Who was it that had spent hours sparring with her, battering her pride and tossing her into the dirt all so she could learn to fight better so that she would return_?_ Who was it that blushed at her inane babbling and incorrigible comments yet continued to seek her out for more of her time? Who was it that found her buried on the mountain and rescued her? Who was it that had instructed his men to watch out for her during the journey to Skyhold? All of those things he had done—he was _protecting_ her.

"I will _not_ allow the events at Haven to happen again," he murmured to her. "You have my word."

Aislynn watched him breathlessly as he turned his full attention back to his work. After what seemed like ages, she wrenched her gaze away and staggered almost unseeing to the well. Hanging onto the wooden frame for dear life, the slender elf leaned her hip against the stone edge of the well and forced herself to take steadying breaths, as all the while her thoughts raced madly beyond all hope of relief.

_All of this: everything he's done, all the work he's doing, all the sleep he isn't getting…_

_For me?_


	27. Blackwall

_12,000—and still counting. You guys never cease to amaze me. YOU make this all possible. Thanks for the review—oh my gosh, the reviews!— and for everyone who has since favorited and followed. This journey wouldn't be possible without you all. _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"That's it?" asked Dorian, sauntering to Cullen's side. "You're just going to let her walk away, swaying hips and all?"

The Commander spluttered, swiveling to face the cheeky mage. "Whatever are you on about?"

"Oh, don't glare so. It's bad for your digestion," the flamboyant Tevinter chuckled. "And don't play coy; it doesn't suit you…"

Shuddering at the almost predatory look Dorian gave him, Cullen turned, stepping away from his paperwork to inspect the work on the battlements—anything to escape from the other man. When the mage followed, he sighed in defeat, muttering, "There is nothing for you to meddle with between us." And then the Commander faltered, his voice catching uneasily in his throat, "And…and I wouldn't advise mentioning the Inquisitor's…hindquarters…again. It's…it's _disrespectful_." A flush crept up Cullen's neck and colored his cheeks and ears, which sent the other man into hearty fit of laughter.

"You keep saying 'no,' but now I _know_ better. I can see your _tells_," Dorian winked. "Ah, the flush of infatuation. It's _adorable._"

"That is _quite_ enough," growled the Commander, crossing his arms. _Maker's breath, is he really here to gloat? _Cullen sent him a sidelong glance, trying to determine the nature of Dorian's jests. _Would he really be so cruel as to suggest that…I mean, I would _never, _not if she's already…involved…_ but, still, he couldn't quite temper the iciness in his next statement, no matter how hard he tried: "I'm sure you know all about infatuation in her regards, in any case."

The other man paused, confusion causing his brows to furrow as he considered the Commander's challenge. An awkward silence followed before quite suddenly the mage guffawed, "You really think that…oh, you _poor_ man. No wonder you frown so much." Dorian, holding his stomach as he continued to laugh, explained, "She's not quite my type, dear fellow." He watched with amusement as Cullen's disapproving glare transformed into a perplexed frown. Laughter abating into soft chuckles, Dorian turned to leave, but he couldn't quite walk away without risking one more jibe at the man's pride, "Those swaying hips are _all yours_ to remark on, in the future, Commander."

At Cullen's renewed flush of embarrassment, Dorian chuckled again and withdrew.

The Commander swore under his breath, retreating to the shadows to hide the redness plastered on his cheeks. Rubbing a gloved hand down his face, he heaved a sigh and attempted to bring his mind back into focus, suddenly realizing that he had quite forgotten why he was inspecting the battlements at all. All the work—at least, all the work he had ordered—was taking place within the Keep proper. Flushing even more fiercely, Cullen stomped to his makeshift worktable and focused on what he _had_ been reviewing…

Or, at least, he pretended to.

_**~oOo~**_

"Ace, you ready?" asked Varric at the Inquisitor's elbow.

The traffic in the Keep had died down considerably by the time the sun began to set over the mountains. The glow of twilight still hung in halos over the snow-capped peaks, sending soft rays to illuminate the valleys below. It was glorious. If Aislynn hadn't already been so apprehensive about meeting Varric's contact, she would have enjoyed the beautiful scene, rather than dread its coming.

She smiled weakly down at her companion and nodded, following him up the steps to the battlements. The sound of her booted feet on the stone resounded in her ears and it sent shivers down her spine. She had been wondering all day whom Varric's contact would be, and the one answer that seemed to make the most sense worried her more than she had expected it to.

In the end, it didn't matter—she would be finding out soon enough.

They passed through one of the battlement towers and Aislynn chuckled when she saw a sturdy, hardwood desk already littered with paperwork and a candle melted past its usefulness, overflowing the well in which it sat. _Cullen's seems to have already found his niche…_ she smirked. When they reached the second tower, Aislynn's anxiety was nearly ready to overthrow her roguish façade when she suddenly caught sight of Varric's contact—

The Champion of Kirkwall.

_**~oOo~**_

Intense, deep blue eyes lifted to meet Aislynn's luminous emerald ones in the fading light and a ghost of a smile traced his lips. Her eyes held all the fear and determination that reminded him of the idealistic, if not insanely snarky, man that he had been only a few short years ago. Nodding politely, he murmured, "My lady Inquisitor," and then he smiled fully, "and, Varric…"

"Hawke," the dwarf greeted with a smile. They gripped each other's forearms companionably and Varric chuckled, "It's been too long, Champ."

The elf quirked a brow at the two men, _well_ aware of Varric's nickname preferences, "Champ? Rather unoriginal, considering his title, isn't it?"

Hawke laughed, "They called me the Champion of Kirkwall once we'd saved the city, but the nickname was firmly in place within five minutes of meeting Varric. He credits himself for the eventual title, though, I'm sure." The tall man smirked at his friend.

"He was a foolhardy overachiever. It stuck," the dwarf shrugged, feigning innocence.

Rolling her eyes at their banter, she shook her head and reached out her hand to the Champion in greeting, "Aislynn Lavellan. Pleasure to meet you." _And to think how nervous I was…_

He clasped her slender hand firmly in his own, giving it a gentle shake, "Garrett Hawke—or Champ—whatever suits you, I suppose." His head bowed and he ran a gauntleted hand through his already tousled raven hair, "I was admiring the view from up here. It reminds me of my home in Kirkwall. I had a balcony that overlooked the whole city," he waved for her to join him and they moved to overlook the ramparts, leaning together on the cold stone. "I loved it—at first. But, after a while, all I could see were the people out there depending on me."

Aislynn sighed, "You're lucky, you know," and she smiled at him. "You only had a city. I have half of Thedas looking up to me. That's quite a few more gibbets awaiting me than there would be for you if…if something went wrong." Her forced half smile betrayed the uneasiness she felt, even through her attempt at humor.

The tall man huffed a scoffing breath, but his voice was gentle when he responded, "You're doing all you can to protect them. I would think they'd hold off on the gibbets—at least, for now."

She chortled and watched the outer bailey below as the guard changed its rotation and the few villagers still about finished their nightly chores. Tentatively, she asked him in little above a whisper, "Does…does it ever get any easier?"

"I'll let you know," he sighed, almost sorrowfully. After another moment of silence, he turned to her and offered, "I don't envy you, Inquisitor, but I may be able to help you..."

_**~oOo~**_

"_We fought Corypheus before. Fought and killed. The Grey Wardens were holding him and he somehow used their connection to the darkspawn to influence them. He got into their heads, messed with their minds, turned them against each other. If the Wardens have disappeared, they may have fallen under his control again. Unfortunately, there's really no way to know unless we're able to find them. But, I didn't come all this way just to give you bad news. I've got a friend in the Wardens who had been investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke he was worried about corruption within the Warden ranks. Since then, I've heard nothing. For all I know, he could be missing, now too, but I suspect he isn't. He told me that he would be hiding in an old smuggler's cave in Crestwood. Hopefully, he will have more light to shed on the subject, if I can even find him. I am doing this as much for me as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I'd killed him before. This time…I'll make sure of it…"_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn had listened with rapt attention to Hawke's narrative, unable to contain the eerie shiver that ran down her spine. Corypheus controlling the Wardens could prove even more fatal than a red lyrium controlled army of Templars. Rubbing her arms briskly with her hands, and not because of the cold, the elf queried, "Your contact…if he is no longer in the smuggler's cave…"

"Don't come until I send for you," Hawke said, his voice low. "I will ensure that he is safe and that the meeting place is secure before you go traipsing in search of it through Crestwood." His lips quirked into a sardonic grin, "No offense, Inquisitor, for you seem more than adept in your skill set, but a party of adventurers—_Inquisition_ adventurers, at that—could prove fatal for him. The less you have to wander, the better his chances are."

She nodded, "I understand."

Turning to his friend, Hawke shrugged, "No drinks tonight, I think."

"You owe me then, Champ."

Nodding his dismissal to the Inquisitor and to Varric, Hawke flashed another boyish grin, hopping onto the battlement ramparts. Aislynn's breath caught in her throat, fearing that he would jump, but her warning was interrupted by his cocky voice, "You'll be hearing from me." And he did—he _jumped_—just as Aislynn had feared. When she raced to the wall to search for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

Breathless, she raised her questioning eyes to Varric, "Does he always do that?"

The dwarf motioned for her to follow. They descended the battlement stairs and headed towards the Keep while Varric explained with a chortle, "He's a bit of a grandstander. You get used to it. Did I ever tell you about that one time when he tried to take over Isabella's ship? No? Well, shit, Ace you've gotta hear this—"

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn had enough time to call an early meeting with her advisers to brief them on what she had discussed with Varric's "contact," being careful to avoid using the man's name. She deflected their queries gracefully, stating simply that it was Varric's secret to keep or reveal, not hers. It had appeased Leliana—she could find out however she chose—but Cullen and Josephine had been incredibly unsettled about it. Once finished, Aislynn met Karia for breakfast and gathered Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra for their journey to the Hinterlands.

"I thought we were quite done with that area," Dorian raised a brow at her, grasping his staff tightly. "Or were you simply feeling sentimental, felt you needed to visit your old time hop?"

She chuckled and swatted his shoulder playfully, "Nothing of the sort, you'll be pleased to know."

They arrived in the familiar plains of the Hinterlands only two short days later, thanks to the use of Master Dennett's fine mounts. The Inquisitor leapt off of her horse the moment they arrived at one of their outposts, turning him over to one of the recruits and moving to inspect the requisition table. Restocking her supplies, she turned to the others and insisted that they begin the search for the Warden immediately.

"I want to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall," she sighed, tying her hair up into a ponytail.

Lake Luthian was just as serene as she remembered it from her first mission, this time blissfully free of Lord Woosleys and Carta rogues. A smile twitched on her lips for only a moment as she and her companions trudged through the area. The lake was small and clear, peaceful and clean right until it tumbled over its precipitous, rocky edge into a roaring waterfall. The other side of the lake from where they stood was a wooden dock, littered with fishing nets. Behind it, just off the shore was a log cabin. Beside her, Karia pointed to the copse of trees beside the building.

"Just there—look," and they squinted in the fading light towards where the elfin Warden was pointing.

A group of men, no more than four, seemed to be fighting—no, _training._ Aislynn watched one man's practiced movement, his actions reminding her of Cullen in the field with the Inquisition's recruits. They could hear little over the tumultuous sound of the nearby waterfall, so she and her companions crept closer.

"Remember how to carry your shields," barked the obvious leader. "You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise, it's useless."

Aislynn and her companions stopped just at the tree line and observed. The speaker was wearing padded leather armor and worn boots. He bore himself like a soldier, tall and proud, hefting his sword in one calloused hand and bearing his shield with the other. Black hair framed his face and cascaded down in a well kept, but rather long, beard. Intense eyes took in his recruits' every movement. _This_ was most certainly the man whom they sought.

"Blackwall," the Inquisitor called, stepping from the shadows. "Warden Blackwall?"

The man's dark eyes met the elf's and he stepped forward quickly, almost fiercely, evidently caught off guard, "You're not—" he began, and then he growled, "How do you know my name? Who sent—" his eyes caught movement on the other side and he lifted his shield quickly, stopping an arrow before it pierced the woman standing before him. He snarled angrily as bandits dashed into the clearing. "That's it," he shouted at her, "Help or get out. We'll deal with these idiots first."

The fight was almost over before it began. There were only a handful of bandits to begin with and they hadn't expected the Inquisition's agents to be hiding in the shadows of the trees. Dorian and Sera had finished a majority of them off before the forefront of the attackers could reach the melee fighters. Blackwall finished the last of them with a mighty blow of his sword, but rather than the triumphant glow of a normal warrior, his victory seemed to _sadden_ him.

He heaved a sigh and turned to the three men with whom he had been training, addressing them first, "Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn't have happened, they could have—" _changed? been_ _recruited? been spared?_ Blackwall did not expound, instead sighing, "Remember, thieves are _made,_ not _born._ Take back what they stole and go back to your families. You saved yourselves."

The men bowed to him quickly and moved to do as he said. A few minutes later, they were gone. Blackwall turned then to face his mysterious guests, his eyes hardening at the sight of them. Aislynn stepped forward to address him again, her companions keeping a watchful distance. It was Blackwall, however, who spoke first, "You're no farmer. How do you know my name? Who are you?"

The elf met his gaze undaunted, "I know your name because I'm an agent of the Inquisition," and then she paused, flushing, remembering her title, "Worse, actually. I'm the Inquisitor."

The man's eyes widened, evidently fearful of having gained such prestigious attention, "Greetings, my lady," he managed to murmur, politely yet even more warily than before.

"I'm investigating if the disappearance of Wardens has anything to do with the events that transpired at the Conclave."

"Maker's balls," he cursed, "that can't be. The Wardens and the Divine? That can't—" his first instinct was to argue, defend his people, but at the look on Aislynn's face he sighed, relenting, "No…you're asking, which means you don't really know, do you…" He thought for a moment before continuing, "First off, I didn't know they disappeared, but we do that, right? No more Blight—job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you: _no_ Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political."

"I'm not here to accuse," Aislynn soothed, "Not yet. I just need information. I've only found _you_. Where are the rest?"

Karia made her way to stand beside the Inquisitor, keeping herself hooded and obscure, awaiting the man's response. Something felt _wrong_ to her…something was missing. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was that bothered her so much about him. But he was speaking again.

"I haven't seen any other Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting." His smile was grim when he explained, "Not much interest in that since the archdemon is a decade dead. And there's no need to conscript because there's no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. _Who_ we need. These idiots," he motioned at the bodies of the dead bandits, "forced this fight, so I 'conscripted' their victims, training them to fight against it. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won't need me." His countenance dropped as he released another slow sigh, "Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are…"

"Do you have any idea where you think they might have gone?"

He thought for a moment, "Weisshaupt, our stronghold? It's in the Anderfels, a long way north."

It was then that Karia interrupted, "I've recently come from Weisshaupt. They are not there, either."

Blackwall regarded the new speaker with a nod of his head, "If that is the case, then I don't really know. I can't imagine why they'd all disappear at once, let alone where they'd disappear _to._"

Aislynn quirked a brow, "_You're_ still here. Why haven't _you_ gone missing with the rest of them?"

The man chuckled at that, "Well, maybe I was _going _to," and then his brow furrowed. "Or maybe there _is_ a new directive and the runner was lost—apprehended—or something…" Crossing his arms, he finished, "My job was to recruit on my own. Planned to stay that way for months—years. Unfortunately, I have no other information for you than that."

Releasing a slow, if somewhat defeated, breath, the Inquisitor nodded, "Well…it's been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall, but I'm afraid that didn't help at all. Thank you for your time."

She and Karia bowed their heads politely and took their leave of him, joining with the rest of their group. There was nothing left to say. As the group turned to leave, Blackwall stopped them,

"Inquisitor, did you say?" he caught the elf by her arm and she turned her green eyes to meet his as he continued, "The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need _me._"

Aislynn couldn't hide her smile as she reached for his hand, "Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer."

"Good to hear," and the relief in his voice was evident. "We both need to know what's going on and perhaps I've been keeping to myself far too long. _This _Warden walks with the Inquisition."

_**~oOo~**_

_Inquisitor:_

_Word has reached us about Warden activity in the Storm Coast, as well as a proposition from a mercenary and his men, named Iron Bull and the Chargers. _

_After your business is concluded in the Hinterlands, prepare your team and continue to the Coast. If the activity was recent, there might be a way to track the Wardens to where they are 'hiding.' It might also be beneficial to see what these mercenaries are offering. If we can use their services for the Inquisition, Josephine has already approved payment for their alliance._

_As of yet, no word has come from Varric's contact. Hopefully, your efforts in the Coast will prove useful in the meantime until word does arrive._

_Stay safe, my lady._

_Commander Cullen_


	28. The Storm Coast

_Thank you for all of your continued support. This is the most fun I've had writing a fan fiction in my life. This chapter, the report with Scout Harding is different from the game canon because of the storyline/timeline changes with the Wardens. Plus Iron Bull. 'Nuff said. Reviews always welcome!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

The Storm Coast—never had a place been more aptly named, at least, not in Aislynn's opinion—aside from the Fallow Mire, of course. Her small group and a small contingent of recruits arrived on the rocky cliffs just as the clouds above began to darken and roil into a menacing vortex. Flashes of electricity lit up the darkened sky with the nearly deafening rumble of thunder following close behind, both harbingers of the coming deluge. This mingled with the thunderous crashing of the waves against the rocky coast. It was cold; it was dark; it was—

"Phew! This smells of salt and seaweed," Sera gagged. "And fish guts."

It was _foul._

Aislynn pulled her cloak further over her shoulders and pulled her hood down further over her face as she approached Scout Harding for a report.

"We always meet in the rain, Inquisitor," she teased with a slight smile before detailing the situation. They had arrived only a few short days before but had been unable to do much else than wait because of the heavy bandit activity. "They killed an entire scout party," the little dwarf explained with a glint of anger flashing in her eyes. "Unfortunately, that's all we have. We wanted to set up another base down the Coast, but…"

The Inquisitor sighed, "Please don't tell me it breathes fire…"

"Well," the scout shrugged, "no, one of them doesn't."

"One of them?"

"There's a giant stomping around down there. The dragon comes and goes as it pleases," Harding winced as the elf before her rubbed her temples.

"That's…unexpected."

"You're telling _me,"_ crossing her arms, Harding nodded towards the beach. "Plus, there's a band of mercenaries we've been avoiding. Their leader looks pretty formidable."

Aislynn smiled, "So they're here. That's the best news you've told me all morning, Scout Harding. Carry on," she nodded a quick dismissal and turned to her companions, putting on a wide, cheesy—and, oh, so very fake—smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"A dragon, eh? A perfect way to ruin my morning," Dorian grumbled, smoothing out his already ruined hair. "I don't suppose you can convince him to just drown himself?"

Sera was more enthusiastic, "Phwoah…dragons _and_ giants…"

"I hope you're not thinking of engaging the dragon," Cassandra snapped. "Dragon hunting may be in my blood, but I am not eager to challenge _anything_ that dangerous on this terrain."

The Inquisitor shook her head, not quite able to contain her laughter, "I have _two_ dragon slayers, actually," she winked at her cousin who glared back at her disapprovingly. Aislynn finished her train of thought before Cassandra's scowl could deepen any further, "And no, I was actually hoping to avoid the dragon. The _giant_, however…" she glanced at the mage and rogues in her company, "we may be able to remove, at least so our recruits can get a better foothold in the area."

"And the mercenaries?" Karia raised a brow.

"Expected company, actually. Shall we?"

_**~oOo~**_

The skirmish was over quickly, the Tevinter warriors outmatched completely by the mercenary band on the coast. As much as the Inquisition's agents had tried to help, it seemed the small band had the majority of the encounter under control; and, as the last of the bodies was tossed away, the big Qunari warrior, the band's evident leader, shouted out to one of his men,

"Krem! How'd we do?"

The young man stood at ease, answering his leader, "Five or six wounded, chief. No dead."

"That's what I like to hear," the warrior nodded approval. "Let the throat cutters finish up and then break out the casks."

Krem nodded and strode away, shouting at some of the other men to start looting, Aislynn watched the young man go before approaching the big warrior. He was all sinew and muscle, bulging arms and a massive chest only partially covered by sparse, necessary armor. A patch covered his left eye but the other eye, shining and mischievous, held an astuteness that startled the small elf. Atop his head were two large, dragon-like horns, as fearsome as the head they crowned. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the small elf in front of him and asked, "So you're the Inquisitor, huh? Glad you could make it." He waved for her and her companions to come closer as he strode to a few empty barrels and sat atop one of them, his weight making the boards creak beneath him, "C'mon. Drinks are complimentary."

Aislynn smirked, "Iron Bull, I presume?"

"Yeah, the horns usually give it away."

Krem appeared again, "Throat cutters are done, chief."

"Already?" the doubt in the Bull's eyes was evident. "Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. Er…no offense, Krem."

"None taken," Krem said lightly, a smirk on his lips as he turned away. "At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts us one up on your Qunari, right?" clearly attacking the Qunari way of life with a snarky jibe. Iron Bull chuckled, a deep throaty sound that made Dorian grimace.

"So," he turned his attention back to the Inquisitor, "you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it."

Karia cocked her head and chuckled, "Worth it?" she stepped forward somewhat challengingly. "Pardon my boldness, but you're not like a lot of other Qunari, which makes me doubt your price. So what's your angle?"

He met her challenging gaze with a laugh, "I wouldn't come accuse me of having an angle so quickly," and then his eye narrowed. "Besides, I know what you are, Queenie."

The Queen hid the surprise in her eyes, "Astute, I see. Who did you pay for that kind of information?"

Clearly having fun at the elf's expense, he smiled, "Who else would the Inquisitor allow to disrupt a business transaction so easily?" at Karia's frown, he breathed an almost inaudible chortle and leaned back, stretching out his legs. "Also, you must have traveled with a Sten of the Beresaad, if I remember correctly, and have a…conventional view of our lives."

"Is it a wrong view?"

"No."

She narrowed her eyes, "But you're an exception?" His response was a broad grin, one that sent a shudder down the elf Queen's back. She risked one final question. "And why would we use an unconventional Qunari's mercenary band?"

"You're not just getting _the Chargers,"_ he boasted. "You're getting _me._" He turned back to Aislynn, "You need a front line bodyguard, I'm your man." He stood and stepped directly before her, towering over her slender form. The elf Inquisitor gulped and stared back up at him, trying her best not to back away from his domineering presence. "Whatever it is: humans, dragons…the bigger the better." He smirked at her defiant glare and then moved away, "Plus, you're getting one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off."

"And that is?"

"Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath."

"Qunari spies?" Karia murmured behind Aislynn and the Inquisitor tensed at the word. Bull merely shrugged.

"They handle information, loyalty, security—all of it. So, yes, they're spies. Well…_we're_ spies. The Ben-Hassrath were concerned about the Breach. Magic like that could cause trouble everywhere. And then we got word about another issue—the Elder One. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports back. But, I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

Aislynn's jaw worked and she stared wide-eyed at him in perplexity, "You're a Qunari spy and you just… told me?"

He nodded, "Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's bad. So, whatever I am, I'm on _your_ side."

"You still could have hidden what you are. And how am I supposed to believe that this isn't just you getting close to 'the people in charge?'"

"Hide?" he laughed outright, "Hide from something called the Inquisition? I'd have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me." Seeing her disbelief, he explained further, "When I report back, I'll only write enough so to put some minds at ease. Your secrets will be safe with me."

Aislynn appeared to be in deep contemplation, one slender hand reaching up to brush the stray strands of hair from her eyes while the rain fell upon them in sheets. After a moment of consideration, she sighed, "Iron Bull, the Inquisition welcomes you and the Chargers."

He smiled at her and shouted, "Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired."

The young man whined, "What about the casks, chief? We just opened them—with axes!"

"Find some way to seal 'em," the warrior shrugged. "You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic." He chuckled and nodded to Aislynn. "I'll gather the men. We'll meet you at Skyhold…_boss_."

_**~oOo~**_

Tracing the Wardens' steps proved to be more difficult than Aislynn had anticipated. The bandit activity led her to an outpost deeper into the Coast. It was a shoddily built circle of hewn lumber, each dug into the ground like a post, and bound together with rope—_fraying_ rope, the elf noted, scrunching her nose. She had been able to fashion the Mercy's Crest in order to challenge the Blades of Hessarian's leader, but she hadn't been prepared for the Blades' eagerness for her to do so. They gave her entrance into the stronghold, some even whispering their praise to Andraste and the Maker for her presence.

The tyrant—their leader—stood at the far end of the outpost, a sneer curling his lips and a heavy broadsword slung across his heavily armored back. A sinister chuckle rumbled from his broad chest, "So you would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?"

"You killed soldiers of the Inquisition," Aislynn growled back, tempering the tremor she felt in her voice and masking it with a saucy glare, all the while praying that he could not see her trembling hands. "We cannot let this stand."

"You want justice?" the leader of the Blades unsheathed his greatsword and brandished it before her. "Claim it."

He charged at her with a deafening battle cry and the elf's eyes widened at power in his swings. She barely had enough time to duck before his sword was arcing towards her with only inches to spare between life and death. Somersaulting backwards, out of his reach, she drew her blades and spun them in her hands, "It's already mine, old man."

Roaring at the insult, he charged her head on, his sword thrust forward as though to skewer her and his eyes blazing _death_—_exactly _what she had hoped for. Sidestepping slightly, she slammed both her blades down on his, ramming it into the dirt. It stuck, tripping him and sending him head over heels, skidding to a halt a few yards away. Winded, he writhed on the ground, gasping for breath, unable to stand.

Aislynn stood over him, her swords across his throat, "Your arrogance put you here, you know."

Defiant eyes met hers and a harsh sneer twisted his lips while he wheezed, "Go on...kill me."

And then she took his head.

The Blades of Hessarian surrounding the panting elf were silent for a moment, taking in the gruesome, decapitated form of the man that had once commanded their swords. And then, a round of applause and shouts erupted from the men and women, bowing to the Inquisitor as she passed with murmurs of, "my lady Herald," and "Inquisitor."

_Word gets around rather quickly,_ she thought, nodding her head to the new recruits. A short conversation with one of the Blades assured her of their loyalty and their foreknowledge of her position. They had been expecting retribution from the Inquisition since their previous leader had ordered them to assassinate the scouts passing through.

"We've been…anticipating…a fierce reprisal," the boy admitted, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "To be honest, we would rather be on the Inquisition's side, not against it."

"It's good to have you and your men," Aislynn acknowledged. "What knowledge do you have of the area, here?"

"Plenty. We've got caches all along the Coast."

"Good," she smiled her relief and pulled out a map, pointing to the region. "Have you spotted any Grey Wardens around, recently?"

_**~oOo~**_

"They were searching for somebody," the Seeker sighed, tucking the last of the papers securely into a leather file and then securing it in the folds of her armor.

"But they _were_ here," Aislynn muttered. "And now they're long gone…" she sat down rather ungracefully in a patch of grass, going over the words in her mind. "They left no indication as to why they're after him, only that they're looking for him. And there's no say as to where."

Karia shook her head, "We have no other stronghold like Weisshaupt. They should be there…" collapsing next to Aislynn, she buried her head in her hands. "It _can't_ be what I think it is…not all of them at once…"

The younger elf smiled wearily, "We'll discuss this again at Skyhold. Perhaps Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen may have better ideas. Or maybe Varric's contact will have sent word for us." Karia scoffed, but Aislynn leaned against her, "Don't give up just yet."

The Queen shook her head, "You've grown up so much since we last saw you…" and she smirked at the thought. "Since you were just a Dalish rogue running about barefoot and causing mayhem…" The gleam in her eyes held tears—joyful ones. "I'm proud of you, Aislynn."

Smiling gratefully, Aislynn stood and brushed off her leathers. It took a great deal of her willpower to hold the tears she felt stinging her eyes in check. _I haven't changed much…_ she admitted to herself bitterly. _But my situation has…immensely. _Meandering to stand with Sera where she was gazing out over the rocky cliffs to the roiling sea. The rain had long since passed, but the skies had never quite cleared. The Coast was just as turbulent as it had been when they first arrived.

Sera nudged the Inquisitor playfully, "You up for some skinny dipping, Quizzy?"

"In that mess? You first," she retorted, trying not to wince at her friend's shortened word for "Inquisitor."

The blond elf snorted, "Yeah right."

They turned away from the cliffs and strolled together to where Karia and Cassandra were seated, discussing the Inquisition. Aislynn squinted in the growing darkness, searching for the final member of their group. Stepping away from the others, she slipped into the darkness, flitting through the trees and brushing her hands against the rough bark. Dorian wasn't far. She found him leaned against a rough boulder, examining one of the tomes they had discovered at the Hessarian outpost.

The mage smiled at her approach, "Ah, there you are."

"Waiting for me?" she chuckled, sitting next to him and relaxing against the cool stone.

"Actually, yes. I've come across some useful information here—perhaps not for _now,_ but certainly for later. I thought I'd add it to the library back at Skyhold," and then he paused, turning to search her gaze. "You _will_ have a library, won't you?"

Aislynn chuckled, "The finest."

"Good."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the crashing of the waves at their backs, the howling of the wind around them, and the occasional turning of the page in Dorian's new book. She let her head fall wearily onto his shoulder and he chuckled, adjusting so she could curl in the crook of his arm. The elf murmured her thanks, but he just smiled, very deeply involved with his reading. A smirk ghosted on her lips. Dorian, of all her companions, was perhaps her favorite. For all his teasing, for all his temper, and for all his whining, he had the warmest heart. He wore a mask not unlike her own: a mask of sarcasm and wit and charm to hide the insecurity_, _the pain_,_ and the _fear_. _Creators, _there was so much fear… They knew little of each other's struggles, only that they were real. For now, with what little time they'd been allowed, that was enough. Dorian had been drowning in a sea of misdirection. She had rescued him—given him purpose—and he clung to their friendship desperately.

Then again, her situation hadn't been much different.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled away. Concerned hazel eyes lifted from the printed parchment to meet her emerald ones, but she simply waved a hand to dismiss it. She could not hide forever. Aislynn stretched her weary limbs, glancing towards the path on which she had come with every intention of returning to her other companions to begin the journey to Skyhold—but …

_Something_ in the air felt _wrong…_ The hair on the back of her neck prickled, the same sensation she felt in the darkness when unknowing eyes scanned her hiding place; the sensation of being _watched,_ or _discovered._ Her eyes darted to the shadows among the trees, searching for treachery; but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Shaking her head, determining that she was simply paranoid, the elf stood and turned—and _froze_, her blood suddenly growing cold as ice for fear of the creature standing right before her eyes.

"Dorian—_run_!"


	29. Hold On

_Not going to lie; this was a tough chapter. Sheesh! I'm glad it's over, but you'll be pleased with how it ties into the next one. ;)_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

A giant: it was a hulking monster standing three times the height of an average man with grizzled, matted hair left untamed atop its misshapen head and covering its filthy body. Yellow, rotting teeth were bared at them in a menacing, feral growl. Eyes—black and soulless—glared down at the two figures, salivating out the corner of its twisted maw in prospect of a meal.

Aislynn drew her daggers to attack just as the giant struck, balling its massive hand into a fist and bringing it down to crush them.

Dorian grasped the elf's hand with his larger one and yanked her away before she could spring at the monster, "Let's not and say we did," he quipped. Together they ran towards where the others were while a pained bellow behind them and the sound of crumbling rock reminded them of just how close they were to being mashed. And then, the terrifying thuds of gigantic feet told them that the creature was _following._

They burst through the clearing where the others were sitting, startling them all to their feet. Alarm registered on their faces at the ragged, panicked look on their faces. Aislynn started to clarify the situation but Dorian cut her off, "No time to explain, darling. Just—run!" he said, yanking his friend farther into the forest. The others followed, drawing their weapons. The crash of felled trees behind them was all the explanation they needed and they immediately picked up the pace.

They ran until they reached the cliffs and the group was forced to stop. Aislynn directed everyone to spread out, hide behind the trees. They would attempt ranged weapons first before confronting it directly. Sera, Karia, and Dorian disappeared just as the giant burst through the copse of trees. It bellowed when it did not see them, but then an arrow pierced its cheek and it roared in irritation, swiveling to find the attacker. Then Dorian struck from behind, sparks lighting up the darkening sky and striking the giant in the skull. It staggered the beast and it turned, disoriented, swinging its fists at the air. Karia and Sera struck again, arrows flying in sync from opposite sides of the clearing, giving Dorian time to change position.

One arrow pierced its eye, blinding its left side and its scream of pain shook the ground on which they stood. Its attacks, however, grew even fiercer. The giant leapt at the nearest tree, uprooting it and tossing it into the woods. Sera screamed, nearly uprooted with the tree. Darting quickly to another hiding spot gave her away and the giant reached for her, swinging wildly for its target.

Aislynn sprung from her hiding place, then, followed by Cassandra and they swung at the tender places behind its knees, hoping to bring it down. Cassandra was able to break its thick hide into muscle, but not enough to hamper it. Another scream of pain from the giant, but now its ire was on the two melee fighters behind it.

Aislynn spun with her daggers, hacking bit by bit into its flesh. When one of its hammed fists slammed down to bat her away, she danced around it, slitting into its fingers, drawing blood with every stroke. Still hidden, Karia and Dorian continued to strike until the rogue ran out of arrows. Throwing her bow over her shoulder, she drew her matching blades instead, tossing herself into the fray with the other elf and the Seeker.

Sera passed Dorian on her way to another vantage point and she whooped, "Burn that bloody arse patty!"

He quirked a grin, "This is art, Sera, and you can't rush art. Watch and learn."

"Less talking, more burning, please!" Aislynn shouted, flitting away from the hammed fist that came crashing into the ground, dangerously close.

Dorian bowed as another flare of fire jetted from his staff, "You take all the fun out of destroying things, you know."

"Shut up!" Cassandra raged, taking another swing at the giant's hamstring while Aislynn and Karia distracted it.

This elicited a chuckle from Aislynn. Her long hair had loosened itself from her ponytail and was now hanging free and framing her flushed face as she jabbed at her enemy, taunting it. The elf struck and pulled back, dancing just a breath ahead of death every time it reached for her. Her green eyes flashed even brighter with the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The giant was tiring, staggering, swinging wildly and blindly as another shot from Sera disabled its other eye. Cassandra was finally able to swing deeply enough to sever its hamstring and the giant fell to the ground with a scream of pain.

"Maker, that smell," Karia gagged, "like…sewers and dead things." She risked a blow at its neck and danced away as more blood trickled down her daggers.

Aislynn coughed, the smell overpowering her for a just a moment. She hadn't noticed in her deadly weaving in and out of its grasp, but now that it was grounded, it was hard to ignore. One more blow from Cassandra pierced through its side and deep into its chest cavity. The giant lurched forward then sideways, trying to get away from those harassing its flank, still battling for life. They were dangerously close to the cliff's edge now and the giant was on all fours, crawling to escape, not realizing that it was only a breath away from toppling over the cliff.

Aislynn flitted forward, her daggers poised to end its life, sever its brain stem, when suddenly the cliff shook and she realized—too late—that it was crumbling. She screamed to the Seeker, "Watch out!" and pushed her away from the crumbling edge just as the giant reached forward with a growl and caught the Inquisitor in his grasp just as she turned to escape. And then they were falling.

"Aislynn!" Dorian burst through the trees running to catch her, pull her free.

But he couldn't reach her…

Her green eyes met his and he saw the fear, the pain, the _acceptance_.

Then they were gone.

"No!" screamed Cassandra, leaping forward.

_Too late…_

Karia watched breathlessly, clutching the Seeker's shoulders to keep the woman from following after. Her emotions had not yet caught up with her mind…even as she peered over the jagged edge of what was left of the cliff and saw the massive bulk of the giant below between the rising dust from the fall. It happened too quickly—it couldn't have been real. She shook her head, pulling Cassandra back with her to where Dorian and Sera were standing, mouths agape, in disbelief. This couldn't be it…This couldn't be happening.

Could it?

Unable to believe what he had seen, Dorian took off running, and the others followed. They raced to the bottom of the cliff, oblivious to the cuts and scrapes they received as they barreled down to the beach. Something in Dorian felt as though it were about to shatter. Every beat of his heart screamed in his mind—_find her, find her, find her…_

They found the giant, its hulking body visible even buried underneath the rubble. Dorian delved into his mana stores. They were low, and the extra bottle of lyrium he had taken he had consumed during the battle with the giant. He hoped it was enough, however, as he gathered what power he had and levitated the boulders from off the giant, releasing them a safe distance away. Panting, he staggered forward and dropped to his knees at the giant's fist. It was_ empty…_

Cursing, Dorian and the other companions searched frantically. She _had_ to be here—_had _to be.

_Find her, find her, find her…_

Something caught his eye and he felt a breath of relief, praising Andraste for the green mark on her hand. He saw _her, _then, crumpled among some other boulders, dreadfully mangled and bloodied. Shouting for Cassandra, Dorian reached out with his magic, touching her body. He felt the faint pulse of her heart, the shallow breaths, and he poured what little magic he had into stemming the bleeding—_Maker, there was so much blood—_and sealing what wounds he could.

_Not enough…_ he gritted his teeth, exhausting what mana he had left.

"We've got to get her to Skyhold—_now,"_ Cassandra said, lifting the elf gently in her arms.

Karia stepped forward, "Don't jar her. With that fall, she must have broken something. Leave her here; we'll see if we can secure a wagon from the outpost. Dorian, I'll bring lyrium."

Cassandra laid the Inquisitor gently on the sand and took off at a run with Karia and Sera towards the outpost.

"Hold on," Dorian murmured to Aislynn. "Just a bit longer. We'll get you _home_…"

_**~oOo~**_

"Commander!" a recruit raced to the man's office, banging on the door with incredible urgency.

Startled, Cullen accidently drew a jagged line on one of his reports with the quill he held in his hand and it was all he could do to keep from growling, "Come in—and report."

The scout was panting, apparently having run the entire way, "A wagon…and horses approaching, Ser…" he swallowed and finished, "It's the Inquisitor's companions, ser—they're coming in rather quickly. Should be just a few minutes."

The Commander's brows furrowed. _What would her companions be doing racing to Skyhold? _He stood and followed the recruit onto the battlements then instructed him to raise the gates. It was the dead of night, the moon was hidden behind clouds, and he had to squint into the distance to see the group approaching. They rode as though being chased by the Elder One himself and a sudden fear gripped his heart—he saw Dorian, Cassandra, Sera, and the Queen…

_Where is Aislynn?_

Racing down the steps of the battlements, he burst into the Keep and into the solar. Solas was perched atop a stool, adding a few finishing touches to the mural he had painted on the wall. Cullen's entrance nearly sent him toppling over in surprise. He was tempted to snap at the man, but the look on the Commander's face gave him pause.

"What is it?" he asked, dropping the brush in a can of water.

"The Inquisitor, I think," he motioned for Solas to follow and together they approached the gates.

Karia had ridden ahead, the expression on her face carefully guarded as her horse galloped through the gate tower. Her eyes searched the outer bailey, stopping when she spotted the Commander. Reining her mount, she slid out of the saddle and approached him. The stiffness in her motions and the trembling in her hands worried him. She was purposely controlling her movements, slowing herself, and it did not ease the fear eating away at his heart.

"Commander," she greeted him, keeping her voice low. "The Inquisitor has been badly injured; she needs immediate attention. Dorian has done what he could, but the…injuries…are severe." Turning to Solas, she asked, "Where can we place her?"

"Her quarters are finished," Solas answered quickly. "Take her there. I will gather some supplies and meet you."

Cullen watched the rest of the group approach and barked at his soldiers to clear the courtyard. He did not need a group of people gawking at the Inquisitor—not when she was so badly injured. The last of his men and villagers disappeared just as the rest of the group rode into the courtyard. Those men who were left on the walls shut the gate and the Commander took over.

Cassandra leapt from her horse, "We were attacked by—"

"Not now, Cassandra," he snapped and moved to the wagon. "Maker's breath…" he cursed, taking in the sight of her bruised, broken body. If he had thought she was beyond hope on the mountain after Haven…_ this_ was worse.

Dorian chugged another draught of lyrium, his eyes red from the strain and the sleepless ride back. "I've stopped the bleeding, but…there's just so much…" he couldn't finish. Cullen didn't need him to.

Lifting the elf into his arms, he choked back the hard lump in his throat. She was so _light_, so _small…_ brown eyes searched her bruised face. _Maker, no…_ Cradling her in his arms, as he had done before, he carried her up to her bedroom tower. They had spared no expense in transforming it into a haven while she was gone—and he was thankful for the effort they had put into its reconstruction.

He laid her on the bed and stepped away just as Solas entered with more mages.

"Everyone out," Solas instructed. "You've done what you could, but we need to focus. Someone get Cole," he sighed, rolling up his sleeves. "He can delve her thoughts, make sure we don't miss any of the damage."

Cassandra and Sera moved immediately. Karia hesitated, but Solas sent her away too, "My lady, you will do more good getting rest."

"I can help," Dorian rasped, sounding almost juvenile in his obstinacy.

"You're about to fall over," chided the elfin mage. "Get out, get some rest, come back tomorrow."

Cullen watched the despondent man trudge out of the room, too weary to argue. He turned back to Solas, wanting to stay, wanting to help, needing to know. One look from the mage, however, and he knew he was outmatched.

He shut the door behind him and moved to alert Leliana and Josephine. Cole appeared before him at the bottom of the steps. The boy was murmuring words that agonized Cullen even more.

"Pain…feels like pieces, just pieces left. All broken. I can't see his eyes. Soft and gold…like honey…feels like warm, like his smile. " Seeing Cullen, the boy flinched and dashed up the stairs, disappearing behind the closed door, leaving Cullen alone with his worry.

_Maker please…_ he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, running his hands through his hair. _Watch over her…_ Taking steadying breaths, he did his best to regain his composure. He would be needed elsewhere, but, _oh, _how he wished he could stay. _What happened? Why was she so badly injured? What of her companions? Where were they? _The questions flooded his already overwhelmed mind and Cullen found he could not force them aside. He needed answers.

As he moved away from the stairs, Cole's words reached his memory and he wondered…just perhaps...were those thoughts Aislynn's? Were they of _him?_

_**~oOo~**_

"Commander, _please_, stop pacing," Josephine admonished. "You're giving me a headache." The Antivan ambassador leaned over her desk and rubbed her temples with her hands.

Cullen mumbled an apology and collapsed on the chair opposite her. He was silent a few moments, but the inactivity made him even more restless, so he stood again and leaned against the doorway.

Solas and the mages had been in the Inquisitor's room the entire night and the worry he felt had grown into a gnawing anxiety. He couldn't quite erase the memory of her limp form in his arms, the metallic smell of blood soaking through her clothes and onto his armor, the sound of her whimpers when he had moved her. He shuddered remembering how badly mangled she was.

Her companions, before he had sent them to their separate chambers, all carried a grim despondence on their features. But if he had thought Dorian looked haggard, Cassandra was worse.

"She saved me. I should have been the one to fall," she had confessed to the advisers before retreating. "She was standing where I had been when she pushed me away. It should have been _me_."

The account from Karia had been more precise. He had never before fully appreciated her position until that moment as she recounted the entire battle for the three advisers. Her _cousin_ had been so terribly battered, but still she kept her poise. _So very much a queen…_he thought with a wry ghost of a smile. When she turned to leave, her eyes caught his and she smiled—that knowing, soft smile that made his stomach churn.

She knew. Of _course_ she knew. Everyone knew—and even if they hadn't seen it before, they saw it now. The Commander of the Inquisition had been reduced to restless pacing, running gloved hands through his hair, fiddling with the pommel of his sword, rubbing the tension in the back of his neck. He hadn't slept all night, just as, he supposed, none of her companions had.

"Commander…" Josephine groaned. "You're pacing again…"

"Sorry," he mumbled, pausing midstride while a flush crept up his cheeks. Leliana moved from her shadowed corner and placed a steadying hand on his elbow.

"We're all worried, Cullen. But Solas is with her. She'll be all right."

It was easier to hear than it was to actually believe, but he gave her a soft smile anyway. _Feels like warm, like his smile…_ Cole's words replayed in his mind and a glimmer of hope gnawed its way through his fear and his worry.

Cullen wanted nothing more than to _see_ her, _speak_ with her. Frustrated with how useless he felt, the Commander dismissed himself and strode outside the stifling Keep.

The darkness of night was just beginning to give way to the coming morning and a cool breeze caressed his face. Breathing deeply of the mountain air, Cullen let his weary body conform against the doorway of the Keep. He had a few hours still before any of his soldiers would be up, and he took solace in the pre-dawn stillness. Cullen made his way to the well, removing his gloves and lifting the bucket. He drank deeply and splashed the rest over his face, letting the frigid water awaken his sleep-deprived senses. Calloused hands brushed the droplets from his eyes and he released a slow, heavy sigh.

Frustration welled in his chest as he leaned wearily over the stone wall of the well. _All of this…the work we spent fortifying Skyhold…I couldn't protect her. I can't, not when she's in the field… _He glared at the battlements and the turrets. _I can't be there…._

Brown eyes lifted to her tower bedroom. The glow of the candles lit the room and the silhouettes of the mages within danced against the window.

Cullen leaned back against the well, crossing his arms as he watched the shadows in the window. It was all he could do. Watch and wait.

But, he would wait _forever_ if it meant seeing her smile again…


	30. Captivated

_This is…_such_ a long chapter. My apologies. I just couldn't find the heart to cut things out though. Hopefully it pleases. Chapter 30, everyone!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Aislynn stretched and then immediately winced at the soreness throughout her whole body. Everything _hurt_…even worse than when she survived the avalanche at Haven. _Is that even possible?_ She groaned at a splitting pain in her chest when she tried to sit up, deciding to give up the attempt to simply enjoy the warmth of the pillow.

"Ah! Finally awake?" asked a familiar voice rushing to her side. "Took you long enough."

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled wryly, discovering that her face was sore as well, "Dorian," she murmured. "Good morning…"

The mage scoffed at her, "More like good after-midnight," and he grasped one of her hands. "I think the general consensus around here is that you are no longer allowed to leave Skyhold—ever."

She blinked, trying to remember the events leading up to…_wait…warm bed, crackling fire in the corner, vaulted stone ceiling, open balcony…_ her eyes widened, "Dorian, am I dead? It's…this room is…"

Dorian laughed outright, "Dead? You…oh, wait, you're not kidding…" he glanced around the room and chuckled. "It's pretty, I'll give 'em that. But, no. You're not dead, though not for lack of trying on your part. This is your room."

"At Skyhold?"

"Where else would you have a room, the Fallow Mire?" he chortled and stood. "Look, now that you're officially alive, I'm off to go spread the good word. Please try not to fall off the balcony while I'm gone," he teased, squeezing her hand then disappearing through her bedroom door.

She sighed after he left, becoming _insanely_ restless. _I can't stay in this bed all day, I'll die of boredom…_ Trying to move again sent searing pain through her chest and shoulders and she decided, at least for the time being, she was better of lying still. A few moments later, her door burst open again and Sera, Varric, Dorian, and Cole appeared, all talking at once—

"Andraste's bloody ti—"

"Cursing already? The poor woman just woke up."

"No thanks to you being all noisy and shite."

"Keep it down—you'll just disturb her more."

"Arse patty—"

"Trouser thief!"

Aislynn chuckled, "Well, it's good to see you all, too." Hearing herself, she winced. Her voice was raspy, dry, as though she hadn't used it in quite some time. Clearing her throat, she risked another half smile at her friends.

Sera perched on the edge of the bed, "They've been tellin' stories about you in the barracks for daaaaays," she drawled. "Did you know that you defeated ten giants and slapped a dragon in the _face?_" The blond elf slapped her knee, "And I thought Varric's stories were full of shite."

"What she means to say is: you're now a legend, Ace," Varric interpreted, moving his hand to cover Sera's mouth when she protested. "I'm gonna have to write about this, you know. When this is all over, of course."

"Mmph nph phmrph phuenph!" Sera screamed through Varric's hand.

"What was that? I'm sorry, I don't speak mumble," Dorian shook his head and the dwarf relinquished his hold on the girl's mouth.

Free to speak again, she shoved Varric away from the bed, "You're a bloody git."

"Yeah, I'm getting kind of fond of you, too, Buttercup."

The blond elf paused for a second, suddenly comprehending Varric's statement. "You gave me a nickname?"

He shrugged, "You're part of the team. You needed a nickname."

"Buttercup," she sounded it out. "Buuttterrrrrrcup..." and then she giggled, "I like it."

Dorian crossed his arms, "Speaking of nicknames, Varric, I want a new one."

Varric spun to face the tall mage, arms held out in question, "What? Sparkler not colorful enough for you?"

"Well, you _must_ know me better by now. Or does the moniker you gave me _five minutes_ after we met still apply?" he stared down at the dwarf with an artificial scowl furrowing his fine features.

Laughing heartily, he countered, "I have the eyes of a storyteller, Dorian. It's a gift."

"So what," the Tevinter mage huffed, "I'm a bit of light you stick in a windowsill to impress passersby?" He furrowed his brows in earnest this time, twirling his mustache as he considered the meaning of what he just said. "Actually…that's…pretty clever."

"See? Embrace your place in the universe, Sparkler."

Cole mumbled something in the corner, and Aislynn smiled at him, "Cole, come sit."

Tentatively, he crossed the room, alighting on the opposite edge of the bed as Sera, a wan smile crossing his features, "Warm again, but battered. The sunlight is gone, but it's brighter inside anyway…" she blinked, trying to understand if he had read her thoughts or… shaking her head she turned again to her other companions.

"How long have I been up here?"

"Three days," Sera moaned, dramatically.

"Curly has been running ragged trying to patch things up because of you," Varric chortled. "You should really see this Keep—it's like a palace now!"

Aislynn knitted her brows together, "Curly?"

"Commander Cully-Wully," cooed Sera, and then she lowered her voice to mimic a man's baritone, "Mister You-Can't-Make-Me-Smile-For-Shite."

"It feels good to laugh, even though it hurts…" Cole murmured again and Aislynn shared a knowing smile with him. They _were_ her thoughts. And it _did_ feel good to laugh…

_This is perfect…_ she thought, smiling, teasing with her friends before a pang of guilt squeezed her heart. _Three days…I should have been more careful. They must have been so worried. Dorian…_ she spared a glance at him. He seemed in good spirits, save for the heavy bags under his eyes indicating that he hadn't gotten much rest. _And I know how he treasure his beauty sleep,_ she smirked.

Suddenly, the door to her room swung open and a frowning Solas entered, "Dorian, I left for a_ moment_ and I come back to _this!_ She'll never heal if you—oh," he paused, seeing her awake. "Lethallan, you're…"

She turned smiling eyes to his startled ones, "Hello, Solas."

"How do you feel?" he knelt by her bedside, checking the bandages and her pulse.

"Like I fell off of a cliff and lived."

"A little more seriousness and a lot less glibness, if you please," he corrected, feeling her arms and examining her sides for any more bruising or swelling.

Clearing her throat again, she whispered, "I'm quite all right. Sore and tired—and bored—but well."

He nodded, pleased at her progress, "Good to hear, but I'm afraid you'll be in a bed for a little while yet. Magic can only do so much, Inquisitor, before the body eventually has to take over." And then he turned his eyes to the others in the room. "Now get out, all of you. _Especially _you, Dorian. She needs her rest."

Her companions squeezed her hands and filed out of the room quickly, poking fun at Solas's fierce expression as they sneaked down the stairs and back into the Keep's grand hall. Solas followed them after a few moments with a promise to return in a few hours.

Aislynn watched them go, a contented smile on her face. Nuzzling into the pillow, she released a heavy, sleepy sigh. Alone again at last, Aislynn felt her eyelids grow heavier and eventually her body relax as she sank, willingly, into a blissful, much needed slumber.

_**~oOo~**_

Paperwork. _Always_ paperwork.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose as Josephine's assistant scurried away, leaving a stack of reports in her wake. _I'll never catch up…_ he groaned, slumping in his chair and covering his eyes with a gloved hand. _This is ridiculous…_

His head was _pounding_. The past few weeks had taken more of a toll on him than he'd expected. Since their escape from Haven, he had been working endlessly—not only with repairing Skyhold but training the troops as well. While he knew the end result would be worth all his efforts, he was beginning to doubt that he'd be left standing at the end of it. Sweat beaded his forehead as he warred within himself, forcing his will to conquer the unyielding _want_ for the shimmering blue liquid shackles. It had been months since he had taken lyrium last and the symptoms of withdrawal were beginning to wear him thin.

"You need a break," said a voice from the doorway.

Cullen scowled, "You need a hobby."

"I _do_ have a hobby," Dorian chortled, sauntering into the room. "It's to entertain handsome ex-Templars." He crossed his arms and cocked his head, raising a quizzical brow at the Commander, "You _do_ realize that people sleep, yes? They actually fall over, horizontally, and close their eyes. That sort of thing."

Sighing, the Commander tapped his fingers on the immense stack of paperwork, "I think I've heard of it…" and a wry smile touched his lips.

The Tevinter mage's grin expanded, "I hear _everyone's _doing it these days; it's all the rage."

Cullen chuckled, "Maybe I'll give it a try sometime."

"In the meantime, you need a break," Dorian added insistently and nodded to the door. "Out there. In the sunshine."

Glancing between the pile of parchment on his desk and the glow of the afternoon sun, the Commander fought a _different _battle. _Death by Josephine for not getting my reports finished or death by suffocation from drowning in paperwork… _A lopsided grin spread across his face as he lifted slowly to his feet. It hadn't been a difficult decision at all, really.

"Lead the way," he motioned at the door, chuckling at the mage's triumphant grin and following him out into the sunlight.

Strolling through the fortress grounds without an errand to run or a contingent to train was a foreign feeling. Cullen couldn't remember the last time that he actually had time to himself, at least not since joining the Templars. As he followed Dorian to one of the tables in the inner courtyard, he let his shoulders sag and relax, easing the ever-present Templar standards to which he'd adhered for so long. It felt _good…_ a feeling that surprised him more than he thought it should have.

Dorian sat and produced a checkered board and a box of ivory pieces, "Chess. You play, yes?"

"A strategy game, Dorian?" Cullen chuckled. "I haven't played this in years, but…yes."

"Ah, good."

They finished arranging their pieces; and Dorian took the first move, sliding his pearly white pawn forward two spaces.

Cullen made a similar move with his ebony pawn, smiling at Dorian's next move, finding that it mirrored his own planned tactic. Stymied then, he moved a knight instead, sliding it into an adjacent space to his forward pawn.

At this, Dorian chuckled, "This is going to be an interesting game, Commander. Or a very long one."

The latter proved to be true, both men taking each move into considerable deliberation before proceeding. It was challenging; and it was fun. And, to Cullen's surprise, he found he did not mind the Tevinter mage's company at all, despite what he thought of him after finding him in Aislynn's company after Redcliffe. For all the man's teasing, he was quite intelligent. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he was able to carry on a conversation outside of the Inquisition. They postulated the downfall of the Chantry and the wars in Orlais, among a great many other things.

It was refreshing.

They were quiet for a few minutes while Dorian contemplated his next move, fiddling with one of his captured pieces. Without ever taking his eyes off the board, he asked, "So, how long?"

"Pardon?"

"You're off lyrium. I may be from Tevinter, but we've still seen the signs," he set the piece down and looked up at Cullen. "Have you told her?"

A shadow crossed the Commander's face as he answered, "It's been…months, now. And no," he sighed. "I haven't."

Dorian grunted his acknowledgement and slid his bishop three spaces, taking one of Cullen's pawns. Setting it beside his growing collection of pieces, he murmured, "It is not an easy thing, but if you need assistance, I'm willing to do the research for you."

Knocking out Dorian's bishop with his knight, the Commander nodded gratefully, "Thank you." Another pause followed as the mage stared at the board. Hazel eyes glanced up briefly, watching a slow flush creep up the Commander's cheeks. "So..." he cleared his throat, "How…um…how is she?"

"Who?" asked the other man, feigning innocence.

The flush deepened, "The Inquisitor."

Dorian quirked a brow, "Haven't you seen her?"

"I…ah…" Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I haven't."

Smirking, the mage moved another one of his pawns forward, "Well, from what I saw last, she was doing well. Bored out of her mind, but otherwise whole. She's taken to haunting the growing library in the tower, and occupying _my_ chair for reading, especially." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he waited for his opponent's next move.

Relief washed over Cullen's features and he released the breath that he had not known he was holding. A small smile lit his face as he moved his next piece, "So she's…well. Good."

They turned their whole attention back to the game, staring at the board and fiddling each their own captured pieces. It had been quite some time since Dorian had faced such strong competition and it pleased him. After a particularly risky move in which Dorian captured Cullen's queen, the mage crowed, "Such a crippling blow! Remember, the loser buys drinks. I'll start your tab at the tavern."

"Gloat all you like," Cullen retorted with a smirk. "I have this one."

"Are you…_sassing_ me, Commander?" Dorian asked, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at the man's playfulness. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Cullen shook his head, pretending to grumble, "Why do I even…" and then a noise beside their table startled him. When he turned to look, he leapt out of his chair in surprise, knocking the table forward and jarring some of the pieces. "Inquisitor!" he gasped.

She was leaned against a stone pillar, her auburn hair loose and delicately framing her pale face. Mischievous eyes met the Commander's and her ruby lips smiled at the flush on his cheeks. Cullen was speechless as he gazed at her—so feminine in the plain cotton summer dress she had donned. The material was lightly patterned and flowing, of Dalish origin, but it fit her enough to frame her curves and bare her shoulders. A faint blush colored her cheeks under his scrutiny and even more so when his eyes traveled to her feet—_no shoes…_ But his smile when he met her eyes again was warm and gentle.

Clearing his throat, the mage scoffed, "Leaving, are you?" And then he goaded further, "Does this mean I _win?"_

Aislynn giggled at the two men, watching in amusement as Cullen sat down, an irritated expression furrowing his features. "Are you playing nice?" It was a pointed question—aimed mostly at her mage friend.

"I _always_ play nice," he drawled, winking at her teasingly.

She continued to watch, so Cullen settled back into his chair, making a conscious effort to focus on the game. "All right," he leaned forward, "your move."

With a cocky grin, Dorian picked up his rook and moved it ahead, "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory." When he set his piece down, his eyes were bright with arrogance, "You'll feel much better."

"Really?" Cullen scoffed, moving his knight forward, "Because I _just_ _won_, and I feel fine." He pushed back from the table and reclined in his chair, a haughty smile lighting his features.

Astonished, Dorian scanned the board. Checkmate. Sighing, he shook his head, "Don't get smug." Standing, he turned to leave, "There'll be _no_ living with you," and he winked at Aislynn as he walked away.

The Commander was grinning broadly, "I should return to my duties as well, unless…" and he lifted his eyes to the enchanting elf standing before him, "_you_ would care for a game?"

There was no hesitation, "Prepare the board, Commander." She flitted to the chair Dorian had vacated and made herself comfortable, sliding over the captured pieces from the last game and resetting her colors on the board, making a great effort to ensure that they were all centered on their squares. The man across from her chuckled at her small quirk.

"As a child I would play this with my sister," he explained, setting up his own pieces. "She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was _all_ the time." The smile on his face broadened. "My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…" he chuckled, setting his final pawn in place. "Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen my family in years." A wistful tone softened his voice as he wondered aloud: "I wonder if she still plays…"

The elf watched him with a smile on her lips. She hadn't seen him since before they left for the Hinterlands several weeks prior—apparently, returning unconscious didn't quite count. It occurred to her, then, sitting across from him and listening to him speak, just how much she had missed hearing his voice and seeing his smile.

_Oh, that_ _smile…_ Aislynn watched the scar on his lips contort when he grinned and the gentle glow of his eyes as they searched hers. Had butterflies always filled her stomach when he looked at her that way? She couldn't remember, but neither could she imagine being _without_ the silly feeling. It unnerved her and thrilled her in turn.

"You have siblings?" she asked, moving her first piece.

"Two sisters and a brother," he confirmed and moved one of his own.

Aislynn slid an end pawn forward, "Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight," he leaned forward to observe the board and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I…don't write them as often as I should…"

The Inquisitor chortled, "That can be remedied, you know."

A slight flush colored his cheeks and sighed, "Yes…so I've been told. My sister Mia makes a point to tell me that I don't write enough every time she sends a letter."

"What of your parents?"

He chuckled, "Also in South Reach, living with my brother." When she triumphantly captured one of his pieces, taking his bait, he lifted laughing eyes and asked. "What of you? Aside from Aiden…" and she flushed, "do you have any other siblings?"

"Just Aiden, he's my _older_ brother," and she frowned when he took her bishop. "We weren't close when we were younger, but since we became hunters we've grown much closer."

"He's very protective of you," noted Cullen.

She smiled and nodded her agreement, "He has every reason to be. And I haven't made it easy on him—at all."

They played another few moves before he prodded, "Tell me. How haven't you?"

"Well," she fiddled with a captured knight piece and chuckled, "I wasn't supposed to be a hunter. The night before Aiden was to receive his vallaslin—blood writing, but I believe you all call them tattoos—I sneaked with him into the woods where he was supposed to be hunting this great bear. It had been mauling some of our hunters and this was to be his feat of manhood. It was going to be dangerous, and of _course_, I had to see what the bear looked like."

"I imagine he wasn't pleased," the man noted with a smirk.

The elf laughed heartily, "That's putting it lightly. He had been tracking the bear for days and when he finally had it cornered, that's when I appeared, no more than thirteen summers, toting my brand new yew bow. I saw the beast asleep in its cave so I shot it. My bow was a light draw and the only damage I managed to do to it was put a tiny stick in its nose and make it _angry._" Holding her flushed face in her hands, she finished with a giggle, "I honestly wasn't sure who was going to kill me first—Aiden or the bear."

Cullen watched the emotions play on her face, reliving the experience through her expressive eyes, their widening and narrowing—shining with excitement. "How did he kill it?"

"Aiden is very good hunter—better than I am, by far—and quite honestly, all I remember is thinking that my brother knew how to fly. He leapt onto its back and killed it as it was charging me." Mischief twinkled in her emerald eyes, "Truthfully, I think my distracting it helped him the most. After that, however, the clan assumed that hunting was my place. I was thrust into missions and skirmishes and learned on the field. Aiden saved my life _so_ many times..." and she winked at Cullen, "though I'd never let him know how very much I needed it."

The Commander smiled softly and observed, "You don't have a…vallas…vaseline?"

Aislynn nearly doubled over laughing, "No…vallaslin." She annunciated the word slowly finding his attempt rather endearing, "But you can just call it a tattoo if you'd like."

"Sorry," he chuckled, "tattoo. Why don't you have one?"

"I curse by the 'Creators,' but I don't believe in them, and the vallaslin, while a sign of adulthood, is a symbol of the god of our choice. Much like, Solas, I think," she moved a piece and captured one of his pawns. "My clan has prayed to Mythal and Sylaise and many other gods for centuries, but none have changed our circumstances and none have given us guidance or help."

Her matter-of-factness in regards to her disbelief gave him pause, "What of the Maker?"

"And Andraste?" she scoffed. "I…_want_ to believe. Accounts of the Maker have more evidence in them than any of the Elvhen gods. So, yes, I believe in the Maker. I believe he exists."

"Pardon me, because I mean no offense—at all," Cullen chortled, "but you're not very 'elfy,' as most Dalish are." Then he flushed, seeming to believe he'd crossed a boundary. "That came out wrong. I just mean that you're—"

Aislynn was laughing so hard she snorted, "Cullen, you sound like Sera…'elfy'…" regaining her composure, she admitted, "I guess I don't act very Dalish, do I? I spent my growing up years with the clan, and the rest of my time…elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" he raised a quizzical brow at her and she giggled again.

"A few years of that were with King Alistair and Karia, and also with Zevran in Antiva. Before that, though, I…" and then she cleared her throat, changing the subject. "Cullen, if I tell you all my good stories, there will be no mystery left to me," she smiled devilishly. "Why would I do such a thing?"

He smiled softly, deciding to respect her privacy, "Well, perhaps a story for another chess game then."

"I would never deny you the opportunity to lose," the elf gloated, stealing his knight.

"You know, I think this is the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters," he murmured with amusement lighting up his eyes. "To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"Record officially broken—you just brought it up again. It's going to be like a game…_the_ game." Her smile was wide as she spouted her ridiculous idea, "The whole purpose of the game will be to _not_ think of the game. Five minute, reset—go!" And then she lifted her eyes to meet his, "I think we should spend more time together…" Aislynn averted her gaze, a blush coloring her pale cheeks, unable to determine his reaction. The butterflies fluttered again in her stomach as she waited.

"I…" he searched her face, his smile warm, "I'd like that…"

"Me too," she murmured, reaching a tremulous hand to the board to move a piece.

Cullen's breath caught in his throat—he couldn't believe it. For a moment, he could do little but stare at her. Maker knows how little he'd been paying attention to the game, as it were. How could he when the embodiment of everything he thought beautiful and perfect was sitting, cross-legged and barefoot, in front of him?

"You said that…" he murmured in quiet wonder. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined ever hearing that admission from her—the Inquisitor. He was breathless, stunned—

Shaking his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts, he stammered, "We should…finish our game, right? My turn?" and he moved a piece—just a piece—nothing strategic. He couldn't think beyond the fact that the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the most enchanting woman he'd ever beheld wanted to spend more time with _him—_Cullen Rutherford, a farm boy from Honnleath. It was really no surprise at all when she moved her remaining bishop to checkmate his king.

Leaning back in his chair, he chuckled, "Well done. The game is yours." Brown eyes lifted to meet hers with the slightest of hesitations, his gaze a quest for affirmation, "We shall have to try again sometime."

Her smile was all he needed, but she answered softly, "I'd like that, Commander. Very much," and she nodded quickly, quietly, dismissing herself and flitting from the gardens like a wisp. He watched her go, unable to shake the powerful feeling that had taken over him. He couldn't look away. He was betwitched, enchanted—

_Captivated_.


	31. Hijinks

_What a crazy awesome week! The great thing about reaching chapter 30 was realizing that I'm finally able to expound on Cullen and Aislynn's relationship, now that they're finally getting together. The horrible part was realizing that I still have SO MANY chapters to go before being finished. Coming to the hard conclusion that their story doesn't end after defeating Corypheus, I've decided to attack a sequel. Yup, it's a tough life and I suck at letting go of characters—if you can't tell by my adding in Zevran and Karia, as well as extended scenes with Alistair. Anyway. Chapter 31!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

So, she liked books. It wasn't a big deal—it shouldn't have been embarrassing at all and the elf girl couldn't resist the snarky comments that erupted from her mouth when the Seeker tried to hide the novel. Cassandra was an intelligent, diligent woman. She deserved to have time away from reports and battles and missions. Of _course_ it was perfectly acceptable for her to have a few minutes to herself to _read._

But _Swords and Shields_?

"Pretend you never discovered this about me…" she threatened darkly, sulking back to her quiet corner of the outer courtyard, leaving the Inquisitor laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Varric found her this way a few minutes later when she came waltzing into the Keep.

"What'd I miss?" he smirked at her infectious giggles.

Wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes from how much she had been laughing, she gasped out, "I've discovered your biggest fan, I think."

The dwarf raised a brow and crossed his arms, "Oh yeah?"

"Cassandra…" Laughter bubbled forth again and Aislynn collapsed into one of his chairs, burying her face in her hands to try to stifle the sound. "She's reading _Swords and Shields…_" she mumbled behind her cupped hands, green eyes peering at him between parted fingers.

"Well shit!" and his own guffaws mingled with hers.

Those were the small things she adored about her companions. She loved their individual senses of humor—or, some, the lack thereof—and their own personal tastes. Now being bound to Skyhold for the few weeks after her harrowed return from the Storm Coast, she finally had the time to speak with them, understand their concerns, discover what made them laugh.

And, occasionally, discover things that she didn't need to know—especially in regards to their taste in poorly written, smutty novels.

_**~oOo~**_

It _wobbled._

Cullen grumbled to himself under his breath as he tried to finish his report. It was proving to be more difficult than it was worth. He nearly snapped his quill in exasperation when, every time he shifted, the desk wobbled.

"It was fine yesterday," he growled, getting on his knees and looking it over. The legs were undamaged, the hardware was fastened tightly—nothing seemed to be the matter with it.

Nothing, except that it now _wobbled._

Cullen exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck in consternation._ Maker's breath! I'll never get anything done today._ Seating himself heavily on his chair, he forced himself to finish at least one report, gritting his teeth every time the damned thing moved. _The faster I finish, the faster I leave this table…_ he repeated to himself, trying to focus on the words on the paper and not how very uncomfortable he was trying to remain absolutely still in order to ensure that the table remained _just so_.

"Ser," a recruit entered his office and stood at attention.

"Report," Cullen sighed, drawing his hand back and grimacing as the table shifted again.

"Sister Leliana asks for your presence in the war room, Ser. And the Inquisitor's presence, as well," he shifted uncomfortably, noting her absence. "I…checked her quarters first, ser, and Master Tethras mentioned she might be here."

The Commander stood, dropping his quill on his desk, "No, she's not, Jim, but she might be…" he considered sending the man away to find her, as he had been ordered, but a smile quirked his lips and he dismissed the recruit, "Actually, I'll alert the Inquisitor, myself."

"Yes, ser," Jim nodded, striding quickly away.

Cullen's first thought was the library. Aislynn had taken to studying there with Dorian in her spare time and he concluded it was the most likely place for her to be hiding. _Maker knows she gets little enough time to herself as it is._ Since being "trapped" at Skyhold during her recovery, she had found herself just as immersed in paperwork as he was, as well as finding herself obligated to entertain those nobles seeking audience with her. The duty had infuriated her, at first, but she had gradually come to accept its place and she had spent an entire two afternoons with Josephine, Leliana, and Karia discussing the surrounding nobles, their titles, their issues, and her part in the Game.

He admired her spirit and her willingness to embrace her duty, even the distasteful bits. It was yet another quality in a rapidly growing list of things he admired about her.

Passing through the room leading up to the tower, a foul smell wafted to his nose and his face distorted at how powerful it was. Solas was on the opposite end of the room hunched against the wall on his hands and knees, mouth and nose covered with a cloth.

"Solas, what—" Cullen began, but the elf just snapped.

"I don't know! I've been in here for hours trying to determine what it could be and I _don't know_!" The mage stood, casting a helpless glance about the room. "Something must have died somewhere, but I can't find it."

Inching up the stairs to be free of the offending smell, Cullen murmured behind his gloved hand, "Best of luck, Solas," and it was all he could do not to bound up the stairs like a child in his desperation to escape the stench.

At the top of the first flight of stairs, Cullen moved to the one comfortable chair in the room where Dorian was sitting, one leg comfortably crossed over the other, deeply involved in the book he was reading. At the Commander's approach, however, he glanced up with a smirk, "She's not here."

"How did you…" Cullen began to ask, but then rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Do you know where she might be?"

Dorian thought for a moment before standing up and moving to the center of the room, leaning over the railing, "Solas!"

Something shattered in the room below and the elfin mage screamed back up at Dorian, "_Fenedhis_, Dorian! Do your legs not work that you can't come _one flight down_ rather than shout and disturb the entire keep?"

"My legs feel just fine, thank you," Dorian shouted back politely, leaning casually on his elbow as his free hand adjusted his hair. "I just had a question."

"What?!"

"Have you seen Aislynn?"

The mage cursed again, "That's what this is about? _No!_ I haven't! Now leave me be!"

Cullen couldn't hide the smirk on his face at the exchange between the two mages. Shrugging innocently, Dorian moved back to his couch, "Sorry, Commander. No Inquisitors here, apparently."

"Thanks for checking," the Commander remarked with a smile.

As he turned to leave, a high pitched, feminine scream resounded through the hall and up the tower. Both men ran down the stairs and into the Great Hall, hearts pounding, weapons drawn, prepared for battle. They, among several recruits, skidded to a halt in the center of the Hall. There were no enemies, no fade rifts—not even a mouse. There was just Josephine, standing soaking wet in her office, an empty bucket in her hand and a glower on her face.

"Who did this?" she demanded, wiping her smudged makeup from her eyes. "Who put this over my door?"

The soldiers had to hide their faces so she couldn't see their smirks, all murmuring amongst each other. Cullen stepped forward and the small Antivan woman scowled at him.

"Commander, do you have _any_ idea who is responsible for this…this…" and she shoved the empty pale at his chest, "debauchery?"

He shook his head and forced his expression to remain neutral when he answered, "I…ah…no, Lady Josephine."

"You!" she turned her ire upon Dorian and the mage lifted his hands in a sign of surrender, backing away as she neared.

"Now, now—I've been upstairs in the library this whole time," he gulped back any other smart comment that came to mind for fear of physical harm.

Growling angrily and slapping her fists to her sides, she stomped away to her quarters, cursing in Antivan, leaving small puddles of water in her wake. The recruits chuckled amongst themselves until the Commander cleared his throat, glaring at them expectantly. They dispersed quickly—and just in time.

"_Fenedhis!_" shouted Solas from his room.

Dorian chortled, "I've been hearing that a lot today…"

"Eggs! Rotten eggs in my paint can," he emerged, one hand holding a bucket out at arm's length and the other covering his nose and mouth from the noxious fumes.

The Tevinter mage grinned, "And you wonder why I wouldn't come down the stairs…"

"_You_ did this?" the elf glared.

"No, but I didn't exactly want to _smell_ it, either," Dorian strolled back to the library, casting a mischievous smile back at the Commander. "I have a feeling I know where our darling Inquisitor has been. Just follow the string of obscenities."

_**~oOo~**_

"You're out of practice, cousin," Aislynn panted, tossing a towel to the elf sitting beside her.

"That's what happens when you become Queen. Suddenly everyone frowns upon you _hitting_ things," Karia chuckled and took a few long gulps of water.

Zevran finished sharpening his daggers and then turned to the Inquisitor, "Care for another round? That was much too short a practice for someone of your skill."

Karia threw her towel at his face and he laughed, catching it just in time, "You watch your back, Zevran," she winked. "You trained me, after all. If I'm a failure, it's _your_ doing."

"Never a failure; but always gorgeous," he flirted harmlessly. "Now, Inquisitor, if you would—"

"Just Aislynn in the sparring ring," she corrected with a laugh. "I can't really practice with people fearing they'll damage me. It's more beneficial if they spar with just Aislynn and not my title."

"Good point," her cousin nodded. "Now excuse me while I hack up a lung," she wheezed. "There's quite a big difference in air up here, isn't there?"

"I thought we already established—"

"Shut up, Zevran," she hissed with a smirk, and then took a few more gulps of water.

Sparring with rogues was different from sparring with the Commander. Their movements were quicker, more responsive, and much deadlier, although, at first, Aislynn had doubted the truth of this. Cullen was a veteran. He was skilled; he was precise; he was powerful. But he _wasn't_ a rogue.

Zevran's movements, as Karia's had been, were lithe. He was an assassin, an Antivan Crow, and one of the best in his field—although thankfully not as good as Karia had been when they met, or else she would have been dead. Aislynn and Zevran circled each other, having discarded their field blades for practice ones. These were covered in chalk. Since rogues relied on agility more than anything else, they would count each "mark" made on the other's clothing as a point. Unless dealt a significant blow and unless cornered, they would go until one or the other surrendered. Zevran struck first.

Aislynn somersaulted out of his reach, her smile fierce as she felt the wind in her hair and the sun on her back. They were on the top of one of the battlement towers since the soldiers were in the bailey and courtyard training. Besides that, after Sera and Aislynn had finished their elaborate pranks, the Inquisitor wanted to be nowhere near the scene of the crime—scenes, actually. They had heard Josephine's scream all the way at the top of the tower and Aislynn had to still her companions with her confession about the pranks. The joke was hilarious, of course, but they decided mutually it was _safest_ to remain on the tower.

That, and Solas's area reeked.

The elves circled each other, observing each other's movements, evaluating each other's weaknesses. She smirked, noting that Zevran favored his left side, so she struck, taking a precise blow at his side. The man was crafty, however, almost _expectant_, and twirled her dagger easily from her hand.

"You have much to learn," he laughed as he lunged and disarmed her other hand. "_Never_ trust a rogue's movements. We're not as reliable as warriors. We _lie._"

Aislynn sucked on her knuckle, skinned slightly from where Zevran's weapon had smacked it. She murmured, "I expect a rematch, Zev…"

"Inquisitor?" asked another voice, startling Aislynn and sending her stumbling into Karia's lap. Cullen approached her, "Good. I've had quite a time finding you. You've been busy this morning…" and he glanced suspiciously at Karia.

"These are not the elves you are looking for," Aislynn explained quickly, diverting his suspicion as she frantically tried to compose herself. Forcing her fidgety hands to her sides, she flashed him a smile and moved to stand with him.

The Commander chuckled, "No, I didn't think so," and he bowed to Zevran and the Queen, murmuring a polite greeting to them both. "I must apologize to you, for I've been sent up here for the Inquisitor. Her presence is requested at the war table."

"Of course," Karia nodded. "Another time, Aislynn."

Zevran gathered the practice blades and winked at her, "When you have more time to be _conquered_…"

"Zevran! That's my cousin!"

"Which is why she's as much of a sexy goddess as you are."

"That is wildly inappropriate!"

"And fitting."

Cullen's face turned a bright shade of crimson as he backed away, "We…ah…we should…go, now."

The elf Inquisitor smiled at his embarrassment and climbed down the ladder. It didn't matter how infatuated she was becoming with him, she enjoyed seeing the flush on his cheeks and hearing the stammer in his voice. It was endearing. The stouthearted Commander of the Inquisition was, after all, a man. She liked that side of him.

They walked together in silence for a few moments before Aislynn felt compelled to break the silence, "I have a question for you, Commander."

"Yes?" he smiled down at her, "Go ahead. I'll answer if I can."

"Did you have many friends in Kirkwall?"

He shrugged, "I…didn't get out of the barracks much to socialize. Kirkwall was already falling apart, even before I got there and there was much that needed to be done. I worked with Hawke and Varric, but it was always…business, I guess, for lack of a better term."

"But I heard you sided with them against Meredith," she prompted.

"Yes, in the end, I did," the memory caused him to frown. "I should have seen through her sooner. But she was my Knight-Commander." His brown eyes sought hers, trying to convey the depth of the situation in his glance. "Hawke, for all his bluster, is a very astute man. He did well, even for wanting to marry Isabela," he chortled. And then he glanced at her again, "How do you know so much about Kirkwall?"

Aislynn rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily, "I've had _so long_ to sit around this fortress and do _nothing…_ but the good thing is that Varric tells stories. _Lots_ of stories." Her smile returned, "He mentions you in his book about the Champion of Kirkwall, you know."

"Why does that worry me?" he murmured, trying to hide the grin that threatened to break free.

"It shouldn't," she said simply. "He speaks incredibly highly of you." She chuckled again, after a moment, "That's saying something, for Varric, anyway."

Cullen smiled and moved to open the Keep door for her. She flitted inside and, as she passed, posed another question, this time with that mischievous glint in her eyes that the Commander both adored and feared, "Do you have anyone special in your life, there?"

It was a _very_ personal question and he saw through the smile on her face and the glint in her eyes. He saw the way she bit her lip and fidgeted with her sleeves and the way she almost imperceptibly bowed her head and broke eye contact with him—just for a moment—as though afraid of the answer. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, and he shook his head.

"Not in _Kirkwall…_"

Aislynn had to hurry ahead to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks and touching the tips of her pointed ears. Her heart was pounding. _Not in Kirkwall. Elsewhere? Not Ferelden, he hasn't been there for ten years… then… here? Skyhold? _

_Me!_

There was no time to contemplate further. They entered the war room to a very morose Leliana and quiet Josephine, hair up in a bun to hide the fact that it was still dripping wet. Before Aislynn and Cullen had shut the door, the spymaster was speaking.

"I have a letter for you, Inquisitor, that is of utmost importance," she said, handing over a rolled parchment to the elf's waiting hands.

"It has your name on it, though," Aislynn mentioned, her eyes scanning Leliana's face for any hint of what might be enclosed.

"Yes," she acknowledged. "It was sent to me, but…it is something you need to read."

Aislynn unrolled the parchment with deft hands, recognizing the script immediately. A knot grew in the pit of her stomach as she read its contents:

_Nightingale,_

_I address this to you with an urgent request. _

_My attempts to infiltrate further into the target you're pursuing have been hampered by an unforeseeable chain of events and I find myself unable to leave my clan._

_We are accosted by bandits and they are relentless. Our hunters have driven some away but their numbers have not dwindled and we are being pushed back. _

_The clan cannot continue to hold them off forever. Already we have lost good men to their attacks. Innocent lives are being threatened and have been claimed due to their constant barrage of violence. I do not believe they are mere bandits. Of course, this will be a matter for us to look into further once the immediate threat is resolved._

_I would ask that the Inquisition lend us aid in defeating these bandits. Our lives depend on your swift action during this crisis._

_I eagerly await your assistance,_

_Aiden Lavellan_


	32. Roll With The Punches

_I apologize ahead of time for the end of the chapter... ;) On the bright side, 15,000 views and excellent reviews. I don't deserve you guys, but I'm so thrilled you're still reading and taking this journey with me! _

**_~oOo~oOo~oOo~_**

She would have jumped over the war table in rage if she hadn't been so shocked. Aislynn dropped the letter, letting it fall haphazardly onto the table, the trembling in her hands evident—not from fear, but sheer _anger_. Her body was stiff, held between the desire to rampage and the desperate attempt to regain her slipping composure. Furious green eyes met Leliana's and they flashed _fire._

"He's…a _spy?"_ Everyone around the war table winced at how distastefully Aislynn spat out the word.

The spymaster met the Inquisitor's eyes evenly, though Cullen swore there was doubt behind the calm exterior, "He has been investigating suspicious movements in the northern region near your clan."

Tears, an overflow of the wrath burning in her chest, threatened to break the Inquisitor's resolve as she leaned dangerously over the table, "He was supposed to be home—_safe._ And here I find he's working for _you?_"

"For the Inquisition," Leliana corrected. "He volunteered to—"

"Volunteered," the Inquisitor growled the question at the spymaster, "or recruited? Be honest, Leliana. I sent him _home._ I wanted to keep him _safe._ I didn't want him tied to the Inquisition, tied to its dangers. I didn't want him a _target,_ and you exploited his love for me. You took advantage of our family ties and used them for your own purposes." Aislynn scoffed and shook her head, "It's so easy for you, isn't it, to pull away from your spies, from the people you work with. It's okay to send them into danger and death. You are a _true_ spymaster…" the elf grit her teeth. "But Aiden is _my_ _brother_. He is _not_ your _pawn!"_

With that, the Inquisitor stormed out of the war room, slamming the door behind her.

In the silence following the Inquisitor's departure, Leliana sighed and leaned heavily over the table, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Across from her, the Commander was battling the urge between chasing the Inquisitor or remaining in position. Eventually, duty won over and he glared at Leliana, "We'll deal with the family issue later. What remains is the threat to the clan."

"That they are asking for an outside force's help is…rather strange," Josephine added. "The Dalish are a very private people, very distrusting."

"And for good reason," Cullen added thoughtfully. "I'll send a contingent of troops immediately and accompany them myself. If Aiden believes they are no mere bandits, perhaps this is something that I should oversee personally."

The spymaster shook her head, "We need you _here_, Commander. Perhaps Ser Rylen…"

"He's more than capable of attending to my responsibilities here. If this is serious, then it needs to be dealt with accordingly."

Josephine smirked, "And is that the only reason?"

Flushing, he rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, it's obviously very important to the Inquisitor. This _is_ her clan, after all."

Leliana stepped around the war table, "I should speak with her."

Grasping her arm as she passed by, the Commander shook his head, "She won't see you, and you know it. Give her time. Let me or Josephine approach her in regards to our response, but _you_ need to give her space." He released her arm and sighed, "He is her only brother, and they are close."

Icy blue eyes met his before Leliana pulled away and retreated to her tower, slumped shoulders the only indication of her regret.

Josephine gathered the letter from the table and handed it to him. "The Inquisitor should probably be the one to respond to this. I will attend to other preparations in the meantime," and she exchanged a weary glance with him before exiting the war room.

_So…_ he rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache pound in his skull. _I'll be the one to deal with the Inquisitor's wrath…_

_Wonderful._

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn ran straight to the battlements, fists clenched, jaw set, and eyes blazing. With no desire to be seen, she avoided the tavern in which her friends gathered, avoided the battlement tower on which she was found, and avoided the courtyards in which every other denizen of Skyhold would be. The one place she could hide without being found was…

Well, she wasn't quite sure of that, actually.

Her own quarters and the library were too obvious—she practically lived in both places. Solas's circular room was no better. Sera's quarters were in the tavern, and the stables were where Blackwall slept. He was far too noble and compassionate to simply leave her be when she was this upset.

Irate, furious, livid, incensed—every angry word and feeling combined into one ineffable emotion.

The only place left to hide, outside of the spider-infested undercroft, was perhaps the most evident of places: Cullen's office. It was dark and quiet—the soldiers left it well enough alone when they had nothing to report—and just obvious enough so that when they came looking for her they would bypass his office completely. No one _hid_ in the Commander's office. It simply was not to be tolerated.

_Perfect._

Aislynn curled up in a dark corner of the room and tucked her knees up to her chest, letting go of the anger she had kept firmly bottled during the meeting. She felt betrayed. _How could Leliana keep that from me? How could she use him like that? How could she just throw him into danger? How—why? _The tears streamed down her cheeks and she sobbed quietly into her crossed arms. _What if something happened to him? What if he… _But she couldn't bring herself to finish the horrible thought.

Inwardly, she knew she would have to return to the war table. Of course they would answer the clan with the requested forces, of that she had no doubt. And, she would lead them there. She had to. If the Inquisition's forces had any chance of making it to Free Marches alive, she would need to show them. Her clan had remained undetected for years, living longer in any one area than any other clan she knew of because of their skill in avoidance. She had to make the necessary preparations, meet with Josephine in regards to the political aspects, meet with—and gods blight it—Leliana to ensure that she would be taking an appropriate amount of scouts to infiltrate into the bandit's hideout, and meet with Cullen to discuss tactics and approach for the troop movements.

_Just, not yet…_

Cullen found her still curled up in the corner nearly an hour later. He didn't see her when he first entered, moving to his desk and leaning wearily against it. It shifted again and he grunted displeasure, collapsing in his chair instead. Slowly, he removed his gauntlets and slapped them unceremoniously onto the wooden surface. He looked haggard and exhausted, so different from the expression he had worn a short time earlier. So much rested on his shoulders and he carried it like a soldier: unquestioningly and unfailingly. Very much a Templar in execution, but a lion at heart—fierce, proud, and brave.

Quivering hands wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes and a soft, strangled voice carried across the stone floor, "I'm sorry."

The Commander shot up from his chair, knocking it backwards in his haste. "Inquisitor," he breathed, "forgive me, I didn't see you there. How long were you—I mean, how did—that is, I—"

"I've been hiding," she admitted softly, a wavering smile on her lips at his nervous stammering. "I thought this would be the last place they looked."

Attempting to still his pounding heart, he retorted, "Well, it _is_ the last place. I gave up the search and came here in defeat. You…startled me."

She looked away, curling into an even tighter ball, "I'm sorry…" Gulping back the sniffles she knew would come—if she let them—the elf murmured, "I should not have run out on the council, no matter how I felt about the…situation." Forcing her gaze to meet his she asked, "We will send forces?"

"Yes, my lady."

The formality made her shudder, but she continued, "Good. When can they be ready?"

"We can leave in the morning, if you'd like," he answered softly, moving from around the table to kneel beside her on the floor. "Josephine has already made the necessary arrangements and a few select scouts have been assigned to depart with our soldiers. The matter is well in hand. We march at your order, Inquisitor."

She blinked once, twice, attempting to hold back the grateful tears that threatened to spill. After a moment, she nodded, "Tomorrow morning it is, then."

The Commander reached out a hand to her, a lopsided grin spreading across his face in an effort to coax her out of the shadows. Reluctant fingers clutched at his calloused ones and he lifted her easily to her feet. He had never realized before just how _small_ she was until she was standing before him, luminous green eyes staring so far up to meet his gaze. She was so slight and seemed so fragile, though he knew better than that. After all that she had survived and all that she had been through, the Inquisitor was no wallflower. She was _so_ much more. Yet, with her standing so near to him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, Cullen marveled at how someone so small could have such a profound impact on him—on _everyone._

And then he realized that he had not yet released her hand.

He drew back quickly as though his hand were on fire, and in a way, it _was. _Gulping audibly, he backed away, stammering, "Um…in the morning then…yes? Good night, Ais—ah—Inquisitor."

"Good night, Cullen," she whispered and slipped into the darkness.

_**~oOo~**_

They crossed the Waking Sea from Highever a week later, landing in Kirkwall a few days after that. The soldiers camped outside the city, but Varric insisted on taking Aislynn for a tour of "his town." She smiled as he described Hawke's adventures again, this time in vivid detail. She saw the rubble of the burned Chantry, the depths of Lowtown, the boisterous taverns. They strolled past Hawke's estate and he recounted unbelievable stories of the shenanigans in which they were involved.

"When Curly joined us after discovering the red lyrium in Meredith's possession, there was a big skirmish out here. He got pretty torn up defending Hawke, but it looks like everything turned out in the end."

Aislynn chuckled, "Why do you call him Curly?"

"You'll see," he winked at her. "Hey, that almost looks like Isabela's ship," he motioned to the docks. "She wouldn't be here, not at this time; but did I ever tell you that the King met her once? In Denerim? Ha! She had challenged the Hero of Ferelden to a game of Wicked Grace—every good scandal involves Wicked Grace…"

Aislynn laughed and gasped in turns as his story unfolded; and they ambled along the dusty road towards where the rest of their contingent had settled for the night. She had only taken a few of her companions, knowing the general distrust that her clan had for the "shemlen," as it were. Varric had volunteered once he knew they were passing through Kirkwall and Dorian had come because he couldn't be convinced otherwise. But the others…

She was beginning to worry that they would attack Cullen and his men on sight simply out of desperation. While she knew they would not harm her, she worried about the fondness of her reception. She had failed them, after all. It had been simple: spy on the Conclave, report on the decisions. No one could have expected for the destruction of the Conclave to be the outcome, but she had never returned. She had let them think she died.

But could she be at fault for something she could not remember?

It had taken Aiden's appearance a few months before that to jog that small part of her memory. Even then, she did not return. She couldn't have, at that point. Would her clan even believe her? After all the things she had done?

A quick glance at Cullen made her stomach tie into knots. _He doesn't know… He can't find out from them…_ _not like that. _

But to tell him herself? She couldn't. All she could do was to pray that her past remained exactly that—in the _past._ She wasn't sure she could face the look of disappointment on his face if he knew the things she had done. Wrenching her eyes away from the Commander, Aislynn ducked under the flap of her tent and hid.

_After all, that's what I'm good at, isn't it…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aiden paced the boundaries of the camp in restless strides. Aislynn's response had reached him over two weeks ago and he was beginning to despair. They could not wait much longer. The clan's current position was precarious enough without the bandits attempting to starve them out of hiding. What scouts they sent out were never heard from again, what hunters foraged for food never returned—they were hungry, restless, frightened, _defeated._ It was only a matter of time before they would be too weak to fight back against the raids, and only a few days more before they starved to death.

It was hopeless without the Inquisition's support.

He crested one of the hills overlooking his clan's hideout and some of the outer valleys. The city of Wycome was not far, but he doubted their open reception were a clan of refugee Dalish to waltz into their midst. Narrowed eyes scanned the clearing, searching for _anything_.

And then he saw it—the untamed, flaming red hair that he would have recognized anywhere. Hopping down from his perch, he raced to meet her in the valley. When she caught sight of him, she ran, too, leaping into his arms.

"Aiden!" she smiled, breathless for a moment. "I'm so glad to see you."

"You're not a moment too soon, da'len," he squeezed her tightly before pulling away to examine her. "I heard about Haven, and Leliana gave me minor details about the Storm Coast." He frowned, "You were supposed to be protected in my absence."

Crossing her arms, she snapped, "Protected, indeed. I sent you home to keep you safe and I find out from Leliana—rather, from your letter—that you're a spy."

"All of my missions _combined_ were safer than your harrowed escape from Haven," the elfin hunter glared at his sister with irritation. "I was told you would be in good hands, and then I find out that you nearly died. Again! And then once more on the Storm Coast. I think I'm justified in trying to protect you from afar. Apparently, no one else can do it properly."

"Aiden…" she growled, "now is _not_ the time."

"Isn't it?" he challenged. "I was right. You _should have_ let me stay. You know I'm a better swordsman than any of those Templar idiots you keep as company. Ah, here comes one of them now…" and then his scowl deepened as he recognized the Commander. "Excuse me…" he murmured to his sister, striding towards the incoming contingent of soldiers.

"I'll need the supplies brought forward," Cullen instructed one of his men. "We won't set up within their encampment. Just along the perimeter." He was in the middle of directing another soldier when the elf reached him. He turned to greet Aiden, but was stopped dead in his tracks before he could even extend his hand in greeting.

Aiden glared menacingly at him, balled his fist, and connected his gauntleted knuckles solidly with the Commander's jaw.


	33. Haunted

_Most difficult chapter yet… Thanks for the reviews, you all. ;) _

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Cullen glared up from where he had been knocked down by the scowling elfin hunter, rubbing his sore jaw.

_He punched me!_

Every fiber of the Commander's being was taut with a fiercely bridled anger, and he lifted himself slowly to his feet. As his dark eyes locked with Aiden's arctic stare, he felt the years of rigorous Templar training begin to slip away. _No one_ made a mockery of him in front of his soldiers—not without being prepared to face the consequences. Almost unbidden, his hand curled into a fist and struck a blow at the elf.

Aiden ducked a moment too late and the blow to his chin sent him staggering backwards. Fire flashed in the hunter's eyes and he threw himself at the Commander. They grappled with each other, fists swinging, grunting with every hit taken. Throwing Aiden backwards, Cullen withdrew, but braced himself for another attack as the elf made a move to spring at him again.

"Cullen!" Aislynn shoved herself between them, holding her arm out to stop her brother. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," he brushed away her concern, his voice dangerously low.

Furious eyes turned to her brother, "Explain yourself."

"He said he would keep you safe," Aiden answered, never taking his eyes from the Commander's. "I think your nearly dying twice within a month's time is proof enough for me that he cannot be trusted."

"Through no fault of his," she defended. "I was on the field. I know what's required of me—"

He scoffed, "I read the report. The Elder One wanted _you_ and they just gave you up as though you were nothing. And the Storm Coast—with giants and dragons—they let you leave without a proper guard at your back. None of it had to happen."

"The giant caught us unawares. I would have been fine had the cliff not given way."

"With enough archers, you wouldn't have been near the cliff."

"We never intended—"

"So I'm supposed to be fine with losing you because you had the best of intentions?" Aiden shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not good enough, Aislynn."

The Commander growled, interrupting their argument, "In the meantime, there are bandits to be dealt with. If you'll excuse me, I have _work_ to do." He turned back to his soldiers and continued to issue orders, barking commands to those left standing aside and gaping at the scene.

Aislynn cast a withering stare at her brother and murmured, "Just take me to the Keeper, Aiden."

_**~oOo~**_

The Inquisitor faced the silent Keeper with great trepidation. While she fought gallantly to maintain her composure, she felt the years of disappointment and frustration undermine her resolve, causing her to tremble—ever so slightly. She wanted to run—to hide—_anything_ to be free from the even gaze of the elfin woman before her. Every past mistake flashed through the girl's mind and she gritted her teeth against the panic threatening to overwhelm her. _I will not crumble…not here…_ she vowed to herself, tilting her chin upwards in slight defiance and introducing her team.

"Keeper Deshanna, I come on behalf of the Inquisition for the defense of Clan Lavellan." She nodded to the tall man beside her and continued, "This is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces. He will be conducting the tactical defense. These," and she nodded to the other two men with her, "are Dorian Pavus and Varric Tethras. They are my companions and will be assisting us in this endeavor."

The elfin mage glanced over the Inquisitor and her companions, keeping her expression distant and cool, "It has been quite some time, _fen'asha._ We feared that you had perished."

_Wolf woman…_ Aislynn had not heard that name in quite some time. The sound of the name she had once carried still sent shivers down her spine. Had she really come so far? "No, Keeper Deshanna. I lost much of my memory after the explosion. When I had regained a little of what I had lost, I had already committed myself to the Inquisition's cause and could not return."

"It is no matter. You are well, it seems. We appreciate the assistance the Inquisition has offered us on your behalf." The Keeper then turned her eyes to the others in the room. "I am sure you have much to prepare. I would like a word alone with the Inquisitor."

The Commander, Dorian, and Varric bowed and exited the aravel, leaving Aislynn alone to face the Keeper. The elderly mage, away from the prying eyes of the others, stepped away from her seat and moved to embrace the young elf, but Aislynn was stiff and unreceptive. Worried eyes scanned Aislynn's and she ventured, "You have changed, _fen'asha._"

"I hope so, Keeper," whispered the rogue. "Much has happened since…"

"You do not need to speak of what has happened with _me._ I already know your secrets," a kind hand brushed the stray locks of hair from Aislynn's eyes.

Ashamed, Aislynn turned away her gaze, "I should…rejoin the others."

"_Ir abelas, da'len…mala suledin nadas…"_ whispered the Keeper, letting her hands drop to her sides and watching as the young elf disappeared through the aravel flaps.

"_Ma serannas…"_ Aislynn murmured.

_I am sorry, little one…but now you must endure…_

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn flitted through the woods with Dorian and Varric close behind. They had been baiting the bandits little by little, luring them towards Cullen's awaiting forces. A wild spark lit her eyes and an almost predatory smile spread across her lips. These were _her_ woods. She knew the trees, the thickets, the hills—she had lived among them a great part of her life. They were in _her_ territory, now…

Thudding footsteps and heavy panting followed behind her, the only indication that their quarry had taken the bait. Aislynn paused momentarily to shoot a few arrows, enrage them further, before dashing away again, just seconds out of reach.

Before the bandits realized what was happening, they were surrounded. There were perhaps thirty of them, all heavily armored with eyes sunken and red. They fought viciously, even more so when Cullen's army sprang from the underbrush and ambushed them. Outmaneuvered, outsmarted, outmatched—the bandits should have surrendered—but they _didn't_.

"Shit," Varric cursed, shooting bolts into the fray. "This reeks of red lyrium."

Dorian smirked, "And we thought these would be simple bandits. I should have known better. You don't attract simple problems, Aislynn. It's not your style."

Running out of arrows, she dropped the wooden bow and grasped her daggers, sending a fleeting smile to the mage before she charged forward, "Someone needs to keep you on your toes."

"I should change your nickname to Twinkle Toes, Sparkler," Varric suggested to the mage.

"The very moment you allow me to call you Princess Sophia, feel free to do so," retorted the Tevinter mage, sending a shock of electricity into a particularly reckless bandit.

Aislynn laughed at them and leapt into the skirmish. A few of the bandits attempted to overwhelm her, surrounding her, but she spun amongst them like a whirlwind, slitting their throats in one fluid movement. Before their lifeless bodies had even fallen to the ground, the elf was already moving to her next target.

Across the clearing, Cullen watched the Inquisitor. Her prowess in battle was beyond what he had ever seen before of any woman—warrior, rogue, or otherwise. Her movements were flowing, graceful, as though she were dancing. The fierceness in her attacks tempered by the sheer femininity of her figure drove him to distraction and he forced himself to look away lest he lose himself completely.

The bandits were routed within minutes, Cullen's expertly trained troops taking command of the field with minimal casualties. There were no prisoners—the enemies hadn't allowed for that. Every single one of them had fought to the death, which meant, unfortunately, that there could be no questioning. Because of this, Cullen sent Leliana's scouts into the woods to ensure that none of the enemies escaped and to discover any possible hideout that they might have secured. From what he had seen, however, the Commander was positive that they had conquered the threat.

Aislynn's stomach lurched as she helped to pile the bodies in the center of the clearing. _Red lyrium…_ the stuff was vile. Seeing what it did to some of the men, twisting their bodies and corrupting their minds, she wondered how the poor men had ever agreed to take it. _Or had they? _There were other bodies surrounding those infected with the red lyrium, their clothes were foreign and their weapons even more so.

"Tevinter…" Dorian spat. "These must be some of the Venatori that Felix and Alexius mentioned in Redcliffe."

The Inquisitor felt a deep sinking in her stomach, "They're going after my clan. They know who I am, and they're going after my people…"

"To get to you. Precisely," Dorian acknowledged. "They won't be safe for long. If eliminating your clan is the goal, they'll let you think you've won for now, but they'll finish the job. They're fanatics." The mage scowled at the bodies, "It's all just a bit excessive, isn't it? All this killing just to see one person suffer."

Aislynn's eyes darted to Dorian and a chill ran down her spine at the words—_just to see one person suffer…_ Memories from another time, another place flooded her mind. Her head was reeling, the world around her was spinning—screams filled her ears, the memories of crimes committed in what felt as though it were in a different life.

"I…ah…" she gulped back the bile rising in her throat and turned away, striding from the clearing. "I'll be back…"

Dorian's brows furrowed and he turned to Varric as the elf slipped away, disappearing beneath the cover of the woods. "Was it something I said?"

_**~oOo~**_

_Murderer!_

Aislynn rocked back in forth in the darkness, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobs shaking her body. The shrieks of _murderer, murderer, murderer _resounding with every beat of her heart. She clutched at her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, "Stop, stop…please stop…" she begged to the voices in her mind, the accusations against her soul. It had been so long ago but the echoes still scarred her soul. Would she never be free? Wolf woman was what they called her. Wolf—a rampaging beast, feral, untamed, and merciless. They had hailed her as a hero. But they didn't know the truth.

_Murderer!_

"Aislynn?"

She screamed, startled, and ran into the forest as fast as her legs could carry her, hardly able to see past the tears. She didn't get far before two strong hands clasped her shoulders and spun her around.

"Aislynn, _please,_" Cullen entreated.

The elf fought him, pulling her shoulders from his grasp, "Leave me alone!"

He released her, but he did not leave. Too overwhelmed to run any farther, she collapsed on the ground, curling into a tight ball of muffled wails and streaming tears. The concerned Commander sat wordlessly beside her, just close enough to be a presence but far enough away to allow her space. He wasn't sure how many minutes passed before her sobs eased into sporadic sniffles. But he would _wait. _

He would _always _wait.

Thoroughly spent, she lifted her head from her arms and regarded the man sitting beside her.

"Why are you still here?"

Warm russet eyes lifted to hers, "Where else would I be, my lady?"

She scoffed, "I don't deserve your time. If you only knew…"

"Then tell me," he whispered, leaning back against a tree, expression soft and hopeful.

Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "Cullen…" But the look of sincerity in his eyes, the concern on his face…she _caved_, "Ten years ago, I was…fifteen…" another deep breath and long exhale, "An elf from another clan came. He sneaked into ours, past our own guards…"

Her eyes filled up with tears again as she recounted her tale, "My father found him first. The strange elf was going to kill our Keeper, but my father stopped him, just outside our aravel. He k-killed my father. And my mother, when she stepped outside to help him…" the tears were flowing freely from her eyes, again, as her words began to come in rasps, "he killed her too—ignored my pleading, my crying. By then the guards had been alerted and they chased him out of the camp. I followed our hunters into the night. They lost his trail but…I found him. I found him and his family _miles_ away from our clan…"

Desperate eyes sought out the Commanders. She began to tremble, "I…I waited till they had fallen asleep…and I _killed_ him. I killed that elf, and his wife, and his…his…" another sob wracked through her body and she whispered, "his children…I killed them all. I couldn't stop myself. By the time the hunters from my clan caught up with me, their blood was all over me. I was…_merciless_. I let them watch as I slit their children's throats…they were _my_ age…and I cut them down…" Aislynn covered her face with her hands, "I can still hear her screams…I can hear them shouting 'murderer' as the young ones fell, the fear in their eyes when I came after _them, _after _him._"

Aislynn shook her head, "My clan called me 'hero,' and _fen'asha…_wolf woman. But the guilt…the _screams…_it haunted me, my every waking move. I stayed for another two years and then…I _ran. _I _hid._ I became a thief—I couldn't face what I had done. I let it consume me. For two years, I hid near the coast, a pickpocket, a crook, running with demons, so to speak…until one day, my crimes caught up with me. I was captured and thrown into prison. But I was lucky…_Zevran_ found me, of all people, being on the inside himself. We escaped together and we traveled down the coast to Kirkwall. He taught me to pickpocket. Taught me to be _invisible_. He smuggled me into Ferelden and into Karia's hands. They took me in, let me stay—for _years. _Karia…her mother was from my clan…we've known each other all our growing up years, kept in touch through letters when we were young, before the Blight. _She_ became a Queen and I…" the elf swallowed the lump in her throat, "_I_ was a _murderer_. When I visited my clan before the Conclave, it was to see Aiden. And I found the clan battered by the war. I agreed to spy on the Conclave for them. They needed me…and I failed them."

Her voice cracked again, "And yet they still regard me as _fen'asha_, but I am no hero. I'm a _murderer._ I don't deserve the title. And what's worse…" she gasped for breath, "_I_ could be responsible for what happened at the Conclave. I don't remember anything. Who's to say I _didn't _kill the Divine? It could be my fault… just like…just like before…And I'll never know."

Cullen said nothing—there was nothing for him to say. Instead, he reached out his hand and took her own slender one in his, letting her draw strength from his presence. Aislynn clung to his hand as though she were drowning. It was enough that he had listened, that he had _stayed._ And, after another long silence had passed between them, when he gently stood her to her feet, she followed.

They said nothing to each other on the way back to the camp, but when Cullen stopped her before her tent, he whispered, "You cannot be defined by a single moment in your past. The woman you have become is no longer that fearful child. You've come so far, done so much…so why are you still running?"


	34. Acceptance

_Oh my gosh! The reviews this time, guys! You're s'wonderful, s'marvelous! This chapter has some levity at the end, a bit of mischief, a small release from the last chapter. Happy March!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

Aislynn lay awake in her bed long after the Commander bid her good night. She was exhausted; she had nothing left—no more tears, no more cries, no more emotions. All that remained were her endless thoughts and the layers of barriers she had erected against the person she feared she would become. The person she _had_ been. No matter how many successes she faced within the Inquisition, a small part of her feared the power. She feared what it would do to her.

She had never quite forgiven herself.

How could she? She had killed someone in cold blood. It did not matter that he had murdered her family. What mattered was that she had enjoyed her revenge. She enjoyed the suffering she caused, if only for a fleeting moment. _It's all just a bit excessive isn't it? All this killing just to see one person suffer?_ Dorian's words flashed through her memory and Aislynn thought she would be sick. She had been that person, once. She had hurt before to cause pain.

What made the memory worse, made it unbearable at times, was living with the knowledge that she had failed her parents. Not by their deaths, but by her actions. She had been raised better than that. Being hailed as a hero for something she ought to have been condemned for only managed to burn another scar into her already troubled soul.

She had been faithful to the Creators, once. But, that faith had been rewarded with her parents' murder.

Aislynn was no more an elf, now, than her companion Varric was. She renounced everything that stood for the Dalish when she ran away from her clan at seventeen, a few short months away from receiving her vallaslin. Serving Creators who allowed so much hurt and then condoned her reaction to it was no better than serving a demon. She had wondered how her clan had accepted her actions so readily—it disturbed her as much as her own actions had. But they had praised the Creators for the Keeper's protection and raised Aislynn up as a defender. How could the gods possibly be pleased with such things? Were they truly as blood thirsty as their people? She had begged for a sign, spent months attempting to atone for her weakness… but the elfin gods treated their people like pawns, offering no peace to the troubled, no hope for the hopeless, no help for the helpless.

In the end, the Creators were only statues.

Unable to quell her thoughts, Aislynn sat up and covered her face in her hands. Cullen was right. She was still running, even though she had found a home in Skyhold. She ran, not from responsibility or missions or difficulties, but from _herself_.

All these years, she had been hiding, running from who she thought she would become.

_I've spent so long running from my own shadow, I don't even know who I am, _she admitted to herself with a heavy sigh, swinging her legs over her cot and pulling on her cloak. Bare feet padded into the moonlight and the elf lifted herself into the boughs of a tree. She recalled Solas's words the day they had traveled back from the Hinterlands—_you are free. _She was at ease amongst the trees, the leaves, the woodland creatures. But she _missed_ the cold walls of Skyhold, the clashing of swords while the soldier's trained, the murmur of nobles visiting the grand halls of the Keep, the whispers of the scouts, the laughter from the tavern, the smell of the kitchen and the early morning mountain air…it was _home_, now. Home, more than the forest had ever felt before.

_Who am I?_

She thought of her advisers, her companions, her followers. She thought of the Inquisition, the Elder One, and of Thedas. She remembered the Hinterlands, Redcliffe, the Storm Coast and the places she had seen, the battles she had overcome. She remembered Haven and its destruction, the Breach and its elimination. So much had happened and so much had yet to unfold.

A small smile spread across her face as she felt the burden she had carried from _years_ of running began to ease from her shoulders.

_I am called the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and the Wolf Woman—all in one. I am the elf who bears a borrowed mark but wears other marks that I have earned and that the world cannot see. I am a hunter and a rogue, a thief and a liar, a friend and a hero. I have destroyed and I have built. I have made bad choices, and I have made good ones. I am both people—the fifteen year old murderer and the twenty five year old savior. I am not defined by my past because it is constantly extending. I am no one, and yet I am the one standing between the salvation and doom of Thedas. _

_I am Aislynn Lavellan._

_And I am no longer afraid of that._

_**~oOo~**_

"There are more of the bandits further into the forest," panted the scout. "They've been severely hampered due to our attacks, but I fear we haven't seen the last of them."

Aislynn nodded, "I feared as much. The clan will have to relocate, find someplace where they are able to defend themselves."

Nodding, Jester continued, "I still have men out there scouting other areas, but from what I've seen, your brother was correct. These bandits were far too organized, too powerful, and too merciless. There is money behind this, leading to Duke Antoine of Wycome. He's pledged to the Inquisition, supposedly, so we're unsure of motive at this point."

"Find it. Josephine has contacts in the Free Marches that can be utilized, if necessary," the Inquisitor said before turning away. "We'll await your report at Skyhold."

"Yes, Inquisitor," the scout said before disappearing again into the forest.

The elf pinched the bridge of her nose. _Another headache…_ Turning tired eyes to Dorian, she teased, "I hear they're hiring another Inquisitor. The last one keeled over from exhaustion. Want a job?"

"No, thank you," he said adamantly. "I hear they're unfortunately low on grapes, and I do so love peeled grapes."

She chuckled at the jibe and smacked his shoulder, moving to find the Commander. They had stabilized the area as much as they could in the past week with Leliana's scouts working overtime to gather information. Jester—Aislynn pitied the man his name—had been their most resourceful scout during the entire ordeal and the Inquisitor was beginning to understand just how carefully the spymaster chose her people.

It was also another reason she was still furious that Aiden was coming back to Skyhold with them.

"_No."_

"_Keeper Deshanna said—"_

"_No."_

"_Actually, she said yes."_

"_No."_

"_Is that the only word you know?"_

"_No—I mean—gah! Drat it all, Aiden, you can't come back with us."_

"_Well I'll come to Skyhold behind you, then. Not with you. It'll be perfect—fashionably late. I'll even wear one of those silly Orlesian masks."_

"_I hate you."_

"_I love you, too."_

Aislynn rolled her eyes at the memory. Her brother was nothing if not insistent…and irritating…and cocky…and…

Shaking her head, she forced herself not to think about it. She found Cullen where she expected him to be—in his tent working on a report of the situation. With a smirk, she leaned over his makeshift desk, scattering a few of the items atop it. Completely unsurprised, he glanced up, "Can I help you?"

"I'm bored."

"Clearly," he deadpanned, but she saw the glimmer of humor in his eyes.

Aislynn smiled. She had a newfound admiration for the man. He had worked through the night almost every night to ensure the safety of her clan. It meant more than she cared to admit. While she had seen this dedication at Skyhold and at Haven, it still surprised her to see him apply that same determination to helping her clan. He was a good man.

Better than a good man. He was one of the best.

He hadn't judged her for her past. He still treated her with utmost respect, deferred to her decisions, smiled at her jokes. What she couldn't quite comprehend was the look of understanding he had given her that night the woods—as though he had felt those same feelings, felt that same loathing. It made her wonder, yet appreciate him even more.

_There's that smile…_ she felt the butterflies in her stomach as he glanced up again and set aside his quill. "You must be _very_ bored if you're coming to me for entertainment."

Aislynn flipped her hair over her shoulder and pretended to think for a moment, "You know…on the other hand…reports _are_ pretty stimulating conversations. What've we got, Commander?" Her grin widened at the amusement on his face.

The man stretched back in his chair, "The troops have scoured the area, cleaned up the mess that the mercenaries left," he flashed the girl a quick grin at her obvious surprise. "Jester reported to me as well, don't look so shocked. In the meantime, your clan should be safe—at least for the time being. We'll continue to monitor their safety through the remaining scouts until we get to the bottom of what really incited those attacks." Cullen's eyes rested on hers for a moment, the humor temporarily suppressed. "How are you, Inquisitor?"

"I was quite all right until the formalities came out," she sniffed disdainfully, and then sighed at the insistence in his gaze. "I'm…well." She offered him a sincere smile, "I truly am."

"Good," he murmured with a soft smile.

Her gaze lingered a moment longer before he flushed and returned to the report he was writing. Aislynn chuckled at his embarrassment and turned to leave. It still amazed her how such a strong, capable person cared enough to take on a bandit expedition _personally._ It spoke volumes to her. But what amazed her most was his acceptance of her, even after she had poured out her heart concerning her past. After everything he knew about her…

_He still…cares._

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen gritted his teeth and gulped down the shout of rage he felt bubbling in his chest. His sword had been completely glued inside the sheath. It would take _hours _to clean the sap from the sword and even longer to get the sticky stuff out of his sheath. _Maker's breath,_ he cursed inwardly, yanking the steel from its encasement and setting the sheath aside. He had set his armor and his sword aside for only a few minutes to rinse in the river and he had come back to _this?_

_Speaking of armor…_ he searched the clearing for his clothes and felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach when he noticed that they were nowhere to be found. Luckily, he still had his breeches, having set them next to him on the river's edge. Everything else, though, was missing.

_Who would…_ and then his scowl deepened.

_Aiden!_

Smoothing back his hair to tame the curls, he heaved a sigh and took a few moments to compose himself. The group was two weeks into their journey back to Skyhold and he had already had his boots filled with sand, his armor lined with ivy, his bedroll filled with frozen rope—which bore an uncanny similarity to the feel of snakes, and his pauldron dyed pink—which reminded him that he would have to thank Dorian for showing him how to release the dyed color. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of the pranks.

It hadn't taken him long to discover the culprit, yet he had controlled his temper due to the fact that the man was the Inquisitor's brother and his respect for the woman outweighed his desire to retaliate. However, in the current situation, he wasn't sure how much longer his feelings for her would win out.

_Just one more day,_ he repeated to himself as he strode into camp. _Just one more and then…_ a frown played on his handsome features as he realized, _one more day and I'll be stuck with him again. In an enclosed space. _

_Wonderful._

Aislynn was sitting beside Dorian in front of one of the campfires when she saw the Commander approach. Her jaw dropped and she felt her mouth go dry at the sight of him. She had always known the Commander to be a strong man—she had sparred with him, after all—but she had never imagined before how that power would actually _look_ on the man's form. The muscles of his chest leading down to a flat stomach were solid and sturdy, chiseled firmly from years of training and fighting. His arms were all sinew and strength. He was by no means _bulky,_ rather a slim sort of powerful with broad shoulders. Still, he was much more muscular than she ever would have imagined.

_Not that I've been…imagining…anything…_ and she felt the tips of her ears grow warm at the thought.

The mage beside her chuckled and closed her open mouth with a gentle hand, "You're letting flies in, darling. You look like you've never seen a man before."

She flushed and quickly averted her eyes as Cullen's gaze met hers from across the open space. Aislynn turned her luminous eyes to her friend and it was _his_ turn to gape.

"You haven't, have you!" It was a statement. He _knew_.

Crossing her arms, Aislynn rolled her eyes and stared back into the fire, too embarrassed to respond to Dorian's remark and still too shaken by what she had seen to have thought of anything snappy anyway. A few seconds passed before the urge to have one more look overwhelmed her senses and she raised tentative eyes to scan for the Commander. A faint feeling of disappointment arose when she saw him duck into his tent, but the feeling didn't last long. A frustrated shout erupted from his quarters and he burst back out, taking purposeful strides to the campfire.

_Oh no…_ she felt her heart begin to beat quickly in panic. _He's coming this way—do I leave? Is this proper? What do I—_

By the time her mind was able to form coherent thoughts, he was already sitting down across from her and staring into the fire. A faint flush had colored his cheeks and nervous brown eyes searched hers. He cleared his throat quickly before speaking, "I…seem to have misplaced my…ah…"

"Misplaced?" Dorian barked a laugh. "Hardly, but do continue."

The flush Cullen's face deepened and one hand raised to rub the back of his neck, "That is…um…I think Aiden has my clothes. All of them. Would you mind…"

Aislynn's eyes widened and she leapt up from the campfire, suddenly eager to be elsewhere, "I'll talk to him. Right now."

The poor girl nearly ran from the clearing to Aiden's tent, leaving the Commander alone with the Tevinter mage.

"Does this sort of thing happen to you often, Commander?" Dorian asked with a roguish smile.

The glare that Cullen gave him was all the answer he needed, though, and the mage withdrew his question with another laugh. For a few blissful moments, after Dorian had had his fun, Cullen enjoyed silence between them until—

"Curly!"

_Andraste's flaming sword…not now…_

The dwarf settled himself next to Dorian, a wide grin on his face, "We were beginning to wonder if your armor ever came off."

"This wasn't intentional—"

"It's been stolen," Dorian explained. "Another practical joke, he thinks, from the Inquisitor's brother."

"Bad joke—I just saw Ace. She nearly ran me over and she's flushed—like _fever_ flushed." The eyes of the storyteller appraised Cullen, making the man even more nervous than he already was. "I can see what's upset her so much."

"All hot and bothered and whatnot."

"What?" Cullen spluttered, "Are you insinuating that…" and his face turned bright crimson, "that's just…extremely inappropriate. She's the _Inquisitor_."

"And a woman," Varric insisted.

"A beautiful one," added Dorian.

Cullen gulped audibly and staggered from the campfire, "I'm just…I think I'll…um…I'll be in my tent if anyone needs me."

Varric laughed and slapped his knee, "Like she's never heard _that_ line before—"

"Actually, no. She just admitted it," interjected the mage, "well…okay, not admitted directly, but it was evident."

The Commander stammered, "That's not what I meant—I didn't—gah!" he turned quickly away, ducking his head to hide how red his face had become, the hearty laughter of Varric and Dorian following him into his tent.

Aislynn appeared not long after that, a bundle of armor and cloth in her hands. Concerned eyes turned to the two laughing men around the campfire and she asked timidly, "Where is the Commander?"

Wiping tears from the corner of his eyes, Dorian managed to respond between laughs, "I wouldn't worry about it, darling. Set it down. I'm sure he'll be back later."

"Yeah," Varric gasped, holding his stomach. "Trust me, it'll be better that way." The dwarf took a few deep breaths, trying to get his laughter into control. Finally, he turned to the elf sitting awkwardly between them, "So what's this I hear about you never having licked a lamppost before?"

Wide eyes turned to Dorian, and then flickered back to Varric. _No one knows that phrase…does he mean? _But the look on the dwarf's face was enough of an answer. _He knows!_ Her jaw worked as though she wanted to say something, but she found she couldn't. Instead, her face flushed a deep shade of red and she bolted from the clearing to her tent, the shouts and hoots of laughter from her friends echoing around the fire.

"I think we've accomplished the unthinkable," Varric said, clapping the mage amiably on the shoulder.

"And that would be?"

"We've rendered two of the most important people in the Inquisition speechless!"

"I'll drink to that…wait a moment, did you just drink out of my flask?"

But the dwarf was already running.


	35. Walk With Me?

_Shakespeare's Sonnet 14 is featured here in its entirety. One of my absolute favorites. And now for your reading pleasure—the fluffy chapter35._

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"Inquisitor, may I have a moment?"

Aislynn turned from her work in the gardens to the approaching spymaster. Letting out a slow breath, she put on a smile and nodded her acknowledgment. The Nightingale motioned for Aislynn to follow and led her up to her spiral tower, her office doubling as the rookery for the carrier ravens. Spread across her desk were stacks of letters and missives written in various hands, some in plain tongue and others in code. Aiden was waiting for them in the shadows, his gaze fixed on Leliana.

"What did you wish to see me about?" Aislynn posed once the three of them were gathered around her small desk.

"I received an update about your clan. It appears they are doing well after their relocation to Wycome," she procured a few letters from her spies and Josephine's contacts within the Free Marches and passed them to the Inquisitor. "The Duke of Wycome was poisoning the people with red crystals. The sickness was only spreading to the humans, at the time since the water supply was not being sent to the elves. As such, they blamed the elves of the alienage for the sickness. My spies affirmed that these red crystals were, in fact, red lyrium. Once this was discovered, my team of spies eliminated the threat and the duke; the sickness began to dissipate shortly thereafter. The people were satisfied with this until we determined the reason behind the red lyrium and the attacks on your clan in the first place."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, her eyes growing dark, "The Duke's adviser was Venatori. We were able to eliminate him as well. Commander Cullen took over the situation from there. One of his soldiers sent this. I received it this morning."

Aislynn took the proffered letter and read it through slowly:

_Commander Cullen,_

_Our troops fortified the city of Wycome and flew the Inquisition banner. It is good that we did so, as the Marchers had soldiers ready to invade the city and kill every elf inside. They were not ready to make an enemy of the Inquisition, however, and when they saw our soldiers, they pulled up short._

_The Inquisition diplomat, Lady Guinevere Volant, handled negotiations quite well. When presented with evidence of the red lyrium, which we made clear was an unholy tool of __Corypheus__ himself, the Marchers backed down from their claims of a baseless elven rebellion and pledged to leave Wycome in peace. They have also donated generously to the Inquisition's coffers to make clear their support for our cause._

_The Inquisitor__'s Keeper, Istimaethoriel Lavellan, has been installed along with a __city elf__ and several human merchants, on the new Wycome City Council, which will rule the city fairly for both humans and elves alike._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre_

A sigh of relief escaped both Aislynn and Aiden's lips as they finished the letter. Grateful eyes turned to the spymaster and Aislynn nodded, "Thank you."

"It is the least I could do after…endangering one of your own," Leliana replied, her expression cool, and the flicker in her eyes the only indication of the depth of her regret.

Aislynn shook her head and punched Aiden's shoulder playfully, "I overreacted. On both accounts. The accusations I hurled against you and the anger I harbored were completely unfounded. You do what you do for the good of the Inquisition. I would be remiss if I didn't follow your counsel more often."

"For the record," Aiden murmured to his sister, "I _did_ accept the offer. I wanted to be near you, to watch over you, and aside from sneaking through Haven and Skyhold in disguise, this gave me the opportunity to do so."

"I know," she smiled. "I shouldn't have tried to keep you away." Turning back to Leliana, she extended her hand, "We have our differences, but I hope that we can be friends."

A faint smile graced the woman's lips, "We can. We have so few of them as it is."

"Good," the Inquisitor smiled with relief. "If that is all, I shall leave you be." Nodding her own dismissal, Aislynn descended the stairs and moved to find Josephine in her office.

Aiden remained beside the spymaster's desk, gazing at her with the barest hint of amusement. Leliana regarded him carefully, "Yes, Aiden?"

He took careful steps towards her until he was standing a mere foot away. He was tall for an elf, and it surprised Leliana that he was taller than her. They were quiet for a time before he chuckled, "I just wanted to look into your eyes for a moment…they're rather like stars, you know." To the spymaster's consternation, he suddenly knelt on one knee before her, a smile on his lips, and recited an old Orlesian sonnet:

"_Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;  
>And yet methinks I have astronomy,<br>But not to tell of good or evil luck,  
>Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;<br>Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,  
>Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,<br>Or say with princes if it shall go well,  
>By oft predict that I in heaven find:<br>But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,  
>And, constant stars, in them I read such art<br>As truth and beauty shall together thrive,  
>If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;<br>Or else of thee this I prognosticate,  
>Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.<em>

He didn't wait for her response. He rose to his feet and laid a gentle kiss on her hand before disappearing into the shadows.

Leliana blinked once, twice, three times before she was able to collect herself again. Casting frantic gazes about the room to ensure that no one else had witnessed the event, she lifted her trembling hand to her heart. It had been years since she had felt so unnerved and she was not sure if she approved of the reason she felt so now. He was handsome, to be sure, but…

_No…_ she shook her head, _this is folly. _But then gazing at the missives on her desk, she frowned in defeat. _Drat—I'll never be able to focus on this now._

_**~oOo~**_

"What lovely flowers, Lady Montilyet," Vivienne hummed appreciatively. "Who designed your bouquet?"

"That, Lady Vivienne, I do not know," the Ambassador admitted with a sigh. "They _are_ lovely, though, are they not? Have you smelled them?"

The Enchanter smiled, "They're quite fragrant. Their scent caught me from the doorway."

Aislynn peeked her head into the Ambassador's office with a smile, "It's true, Josie, and they're lovely." The Antivan smiled broadly and waved her into the room.

"Just look at them. Do you know what they are?"

The Inquisitor leaned in to smell the bouquet again, her eyes closed to savor the scent, "Mmm…no, I don't, but I'm sure Leliana might know."

The woman at the desk considered the option for a moment, "Perhaps you're right—or she will know someone else who will know. And then perhaps discover who sent them. Although," and her smile was mischievous, "half the fun is in the guessing." She hummed happily before realizing that she was ignoring the Inquisitor, "Oh—my lady—I beg your pardon. Did you need something?"

Aislynn laughed, "No, not really. I wanted to thank you on behalf of my clan for the work you and your agents put in to keeping them safe. It…means a great deal to me."

"It was nothing, Inquisitor," she replied modestly.

"I appreciate it all the same," the elf smiled, taking one more delectable inhale of the flowers on Josephine's desk. "Whoever found these for you has remarkable taste."

She turned to leave, listening fondly to the sound of the Ambassador's contented humming fade behind her as she wound her way to the battlements where her final adviser would be hiding, possibly buried underneath a mountain of paperwork. The closer each step brought her to him, the harder her heart began to pound. Cullen had been with her from the beginning of the clan's problems. He had been there for her when she felt she was falling apart and had believed in her when she could not believe in herself. She could no longer deny how very much she needed his solid strength, his unwavering presence.

Nor could Aislynn deny that the growing infatuation she had felt with him had since grown into something…_more_

_Much_ more.

The only problem that plagued her now was how she would go about _telling_ him. As she stood outside his office door, her emotions warred with her mind, leaving turmoil and even more seeds of doubt in their wake:

_Tell him! Tell him you care!_

_No, you fool…not only are you an elf, but now he knows your past. How can he live with you after knowing all of that?_

_He cares. You saw so yourself. He's protecting you because he cares._

_Cullen protects everyone._

_It's worth a try. What have you got to lose?_

_Your dignity, your friendly relationship…_

_But what if…what if he does care? And if I don't tell him, perhaps he'll never know?_

_Is it worth the risk?_

…_yes…_

Trembling hands lifted to the doorknob and Aislynn held her breath as she entered the dark room. It was now or never.

She _had_ to tell him.

_**~oOo~**_

Cullen had been in his office all morning. The pile of paperwork that had been left on his desk had grown into a ridiculously large stack during his time in the Free Marches. He had already spent several days trying to catch up and he was certain he would spend several days more before he would be finished with the workload. Yet, if he were to truly admit it to himself, the journey had been worth every bit of parchment neglected.

He would never forget the look that she had given him the night he found her in the woods—that haunted, self-loathing that he knew all too well. And the appreciation in her eyes, the relief, when he bid her goodnight after staying with her… He _still_ felt shivers run down his spine at the way she had looked in the moonlight—so small, so fragile, so _vulnerable._ He couldn't shake the urge he had to pull her into his arms, shield her from the pain she felt.

But he couldn't do that. He could _never_ do that.

She was the Inquisitor. He was the Commander of her forces. There would never be anything more than that. It was impossible

_Or was it?_

The door of his office opened and Cullen's head snapped up from his paperwork, "Inquisitor," he cleared his throat and stood politely. "Was there something you needed?"

She stood nervously in the doorway, fidgeting with the long sleeves of her dress, "I just…wanted to thank you for…everything you've done for my clan." Her gaze wavered and she bit her lower lip, "And for…me."

He smiled, "Of course, my lady. I was glad to help."

Aislynn hesitated for a few brief seconds before taking a few slow steps into the office, "Would you…care to go for a walk with me? I needed to...discuss...something with you." Then she added with a small, nervous squeak, "Alone?"

"Alone?" He stammered, glancing between her and the pile of paperwork on his desk. It wasn't a hard decision, but _Maker, _why was he so anxious? "Um…of course. Shall we?"

Cullen opened the door for her and they strolled along the battlements together, side by side. The silence between them was _deafening. _Occasionally, the Commander would steal a few glances at her, trying to determine why she had pulled him away from his work. She had been purposely steering clear of his office since arriving back at Skyhold after seeing the copious amounts of paperwork he had yet to finish—he wasn't blind. He saw the guilt in her eyes when she had passed through the first day back, had heard her mumbled apology as she walked away.

So what could possibly so important that she'd drag him away from it now?

_Drag…no, that's not a good word,_ he frowned. _She doesn't have to drag me…I'm…_ and then the frown turned into a bit of a wry grin. _I'm more willing to follow her than I should be…_

Cullen cleared his throat, unable to bear the silence any longer, "It's…um…" and a breathy laugh erupted in his nervousness, "a…nice day…" He rubbed the back of his neck, needing to do _something_ with his hands.

Her wide eyed, startled glance turned to meet his and he gulped. _Maker's breath, please don't be angry…_

"What?"

"Um…it's…" he started to repeat himself and then he exhaled sharply in frustration with himself, forcing his hand to drop to his side. "There was something you wished to discuss."

Aislynn swallowed once, then twice, and took a deep breath. Large green eyes sought his for a moment as her jaw worked and she fumbled for words that just would not come. For a moment, Cullen feared something was amiss—he had _never_ seen her act this way, so full of trepidation where her typical snark and sass usually left him flummoxed and strangely wanting more. He stepped closer, awaiting her answer when suddenly, she blurted:

"Cullen, I…I care for you…a great deal." Once the words were out, she couldn't stop. They gushed out in a rush of emotion and anxious thoughts—everything she had bottled up since their time in the Free Marches. "I can't…I can't _stop _thinking about you, and I wonder…you know my past. You know who I am, who I was. You…" and then she stopped, suddenly too terrified to continue, her eyes dropping to the ground at her feet.

"What's wrong?" he asked, dipping his head to try to meet her gaze. "Aislynn?"

"After everything you've…_discovered_ about me. Could you ever think of me as anything…_more?_"

There it was—the fear, the worry, the residual nagging doubt that always haunted her, darkening her eyes and brimming them with the moisture of unshed tears as though she already knew his answer, as though she expected him to say _no._ She took a step backwards, refusing to meet his gaze, but Cullen would not let her leave, would not let her _run. _Not _this_ time.

"Aislynn, look at me," and he waited until her eyes met his before he continued. "I _could…_ I mean, I _do _think of you…and…what I might say in this sort of situation."

"What's stopping you?" she asked, her voice small, hushed by the strangling doubt she still felt nagging her innermost thoughts.

Aislynn leaned against the battlement wall and Cullen was nearly undone. _Maker, _but she was beautiful. The way the sunlight highlighted her auburn hair, the way the wayward strands framed her face, the way her slender hands rested on the stone behind her for support—she was almost ethereal in her beauty. Her ears peeked between the locks of her hair and he had to force himself to keep his hand at his side rather than brush the curls behind her ears.

His voice was low, husky as he took a step closer to her, "You're the Inquisitor; we're at war; and you…" another step, "I didn't think it was possible…"

Something changed in her eyes, a glimmer of the roguishness that he had come to love so much overcame some of the trepidation he had seen before, and a small grin flickered across her lips, "And yet I'm still here."

"So you are," he said breathlessly, taking another step closer. "It seems too much to ask…" _Maker, I can't stop…_ He breathed in and that lovely smell that was so distinctly her—like sunshine and daisies—wafted to his nose. For a moment, he could do nothing but gaze at her…_so beautiful…_ "but…I want to…"

One more step closer, they were but a breath apart. His eyes drifted to her parted lips, and he held his breath, leaning in closer._ I want to_…he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. _Is this really happening? _Their noses touched briefly and he tilted his head for the kiss.

_I want to_…

"Commander!"

Cullen jerked back, startled, and Aislynn gasped, looking quickly away, her face flushed a deep shade of crimson. Turning, Cullen saw one of Leliana's men—Jim, was it?—approaching them, his eyes scanning a parchment in his hand. "You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report."

The Commander pulled reluctantly away from Aislynn and faced the scout. "What?" he snapped, almost too harshly, moving to stand before the young man. Cullen was tall, taller than a great deal of the men under his command. But now? He _towered_ over the scout, the scowl on his face severe enough to kill.

Jim looked up, holding out the paper, "Sister Leliana's report," he explained, "you wanted it delivered right away…" and then he _saw_. His eyes flickered from the Inquisitor, who was twirling her hair nervously in her fingers, and then back to the Commander whose glare could have melted him into the stone. Wide eyed and _very_ much afraid for his life, the scout took a few slow steps backwards and amended his statement, "Or…to your office…right…" he turned on his heel and barreled through the door through which he had come, eager to be away from beneath the Commander's glare.

But it was too late—the spell had been broken.

Aislynn cleared her throat, not quite able to hide the disappointment in her eyes as Cullen turned back to her. He heard her begin to make an excuse, to give him an escape, but frankly he didn't care. He couldn't let her leave—_not_ _now_.

He stood before her, close enough to feel her pressed against him, trapping her against the wall. And, with a passion he didn't know he possessed, he _kissed _her.

Her gasp of surprise was lost beneath his lips as he pulled her closer, drawing her in. _Maker's breath, but they're so soft…_ A gentle hand rested on her hip and another cradled her neck as, ever so slowly, she relaxed into his arms and rested her hands on his armored waist. It was perfect-unlike anything Cullen had ever felt before as something akin to an electric shock seared through his body, feeling both unexpected and pleasurable. They were lost together as everything around them faded away. An eternal moment of bliss passed before he pulled away, both of them flushed and breathless.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, suddenly aware that perhaps he had gone too far, but still too elated to regret it. He swallowed and stammered, "That was…um…really nice…"

_Nice? Really nice? Maker's breath, but it was heavenly…_ he searched her eyes for a sign, waiting for some acknowledgement and he felt his heart flutter at the saucy smile that curled her lovely lips.

"I believe…" she began, breathless, "that was a kiss…" Her arms slid tentatively over his shoulders, resting lightly on the back of his neck, "but I can't be sure without another try. It's…all a blur…"

"Ah," he laughed softly, a deep rumbling in his chest as he leaned down again, his hands pulling her in once more, "yes, well…"

This time, their kiss was soft, gentle. They savored it. Cullen's arms pulled her tightly against him, cursing the armor that kept him from feeling her warmth as she melted into his embrace. And, after another few beautiful moments, when they withdrew, he felt as though he were leaving a piece of him behind.

"I…" he sighed, casting her a regretful glance, "should probably get back to work."

She nodded, having not quite found her voice. His hand slid down to hers and lifted it to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

"We'll talk more later," he promised and turned away to face the mountain of paperwork still on his desk.

But that paperwork hardly mattered anymore. He would face all the paperwork in the world, battle every demon from any rift, fall into the Fade if he had to, if it just meant seeing her again. Once safely in his office, he leaned against the door, taking long, slow breaths. Suddenly, _nothing_ seemed impossible.

_Not anymore_.


	36. We're All Fools

_Thank you all for your reviews and everyone who added! I can't believe the first week of March is already gone. Crazy! Chapter 37 and all its daring-do is already underway, this one being a bit of a bridge chapter. Hope you enjoy!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"You're looking awfully chipper today," Dorian teased, nudging the elf beside him with his elbow as they shuffled through books in the library.

She quirked her brow at him, "I'm always chipper. What do you mean?"

He laughed and shook his head, "Oh, no. This is something quite different, I think."

Aislynn's brows furrowed as she glared at him, "Dorian, what are you on about?"

"You've just got this thing for handsome, blond Templars that I find absolutely adorable," he grinned and she responded by tossing a book at him.

"How did you—"

"You were on the battlements, darling," he explained mischievously, catching the thrown book and placing it properly on the shelf. "If you were looking for subtle, I'm afraid it's much too late for that."

The Inquisitor sighed, but not from displeasure as a soft smile spread across her lips. The tingle of the passionate kisses were still fresh on her lips and she couldn't help the flush that colored her cheeks. Her faraway expression wasn't lost on Dorian, and he chuckled again.

"I'm happy for you," he murmured, a sincere smile on his face.

Aislynn bumped shoulders with him and teased, "What's this? No teasing, no sarcasm from you?"

He held up his hands in defeat, "I admit, I have a bit of a soft spot for those things."

"You didn't seem to have a soft spot the night before we arrived in Skyhold."

"Well, you weren't going around kissing people then, either."

"Touché," she chortled as she finished with her stack of books. "I'll be back later. I think they're expecting another shipment of books—a couple from Tevinter, actually—so I'll be back to help sort those, too."

The mage nodded and settled into his comfortable chair, throwing one leg over the other, "You know where to find me. That is, if you're not otherwise occupied with a certain Commander."

The elf laughed and scurried down the stairs, flashing him a quick grin before disappearing. Dorian knew her far too well. But, the Commander was not the man she needed to see, at the moment. Leliana had sent word earlier that she received a letter from Varric's contact in regards to the Grey Wardens. Because of this, Aislynn had summoned a war council for later that afternoon to discuss the issue with her advisers and with Karia. It was her hope to invite Varric since it was his contact, Hawke, in question, but she was having difficulty locating him. He wasn't in his usual haunts—the tavern, the Keep foyer, or the inner courtyard—nor was he anywhere else that made sense. And if Leliana hadn't seen him…

_That's never a good sign,_ Aislynn sighed, casting an anxious glance about the outer courtyard. The soldiers were training in the sparring ring that had been erected while some of the residents of Skyhold stood about and watched. The sound of metal, usually something comfortingly familiar to Aislynn, only caused her more frustration as it resounded in her ears and kept her from focusing. Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she leaned heavily against the wall of the smithy and watched the soldiers. She had a few minutes before the meeting and, apparently, Varric did not wish to be found.

Across the yard, she caught a glimpse of Cullen directing the men. She smiled at the stern look of concentration on his face. He took everything with a great measure of devotion, giving almost too much to see it accomplished. It was something she admired about him, but it was also something that concerned her. He seemed…_weary_, more so than usual. Something about his posture, his shoulders…Aislynn frowned. She worried about him, probably more than was necessary.

He caught her gaze and a slow flush spread across his cheeks as he was caught somewhere between acknowledging her and remaining attentive to his task. She smiled and twirled an errant lock of her hair flirtatiously, watching as his jaw clenched in his desperate battle for self-control. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, turning away quickly to regain his composure.

_Oh, this is fun…_ she thought, watching him struggle to concentrate again on his task. It was nice knowing that she had that effect on _him, _of all people—the strong, dependable leader of the Inquisition's forces. She couldn't deny that she gleaned a small measure of pleasure from teasing him in such a way. She found his reactions _adorable._ Although, to be sure, he'd be mortified to hear such a thing—another thing that pleased her.

Her reverie was interrupted by muffled shouting inside the building behind her, which concerned her because she was _sure_ she had just seen the smithy leave for the day. Curious, she peeked inside the door and had to choke back her cry of surprise when she saw, standing dangerously close together in the loft, two shadowed, brawling figures. Well, _one_ figure was brawling, the other was—

_Varric!_

"You knew where Hawke was, all along!" shouted the Seeker, shoving the dwarf against a wall, her eyes ablaze with a fury even Aislynn was wary of.

He shoved her hands away from him and snarled, "You're damned right I knew."

"You conniving, little _shit!"_ she swung her fist out at him, missing him by mere inches.

Aislynn darted up the stairs as Varric ran around a table, narrowly avoiding another blow from Cassandra. He shouted, "You kidnapped me—you _interrogated _me. What did you expect?"

"Cassandra, enough!" Aislynn shouted, throwing herself in between the two assailants and catching Cassandra's next punch on her arm, deflecting it.

"What, you're taking _his_ side?" the dark woman growled, both her hands still clenched aggressively and tightly.

"I said _enough!_" barked the Inquisitor, glaring at her two companions. Varric moved to stand beside her, his arms folded across his chest.

The Seeker was not as quick to relinquish her grudge. She growled, the fierce anger still smoldering in her dark eyes. "We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but, at the time, she had vanished. Then, we looked for Hawke, but he was gone too. We thought it all connected, but, no." Then her seething glower turned from the Inquisitor back to Varric, "It was _you. _Just _you_ keeping him from us!"

He snapped back with ire, "The Inquisition _has_ a leader," and he pointed at Aislynn as though it were the most obvious fact in the world.

"Hawke would have been at the Conclave," she argued. "If anyone could have saved Most Holy_—"_

Aislynn broke in before the other woman could continue, "You can't change the past, Cassandra."

"So, I must accept—what? That the Maker _wanted_ all this to happen?" her brows furrowed, the evident pain she felt over the Divine's death clawing through her raw anger. "That He…that He…" her voice failed a moment before she hissed, refusing to meet Aislynn's gaze, "Varric is a liar. A _snake._ Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept him secret…"

The dwarf shook his head in disbelief at her stubbornness, "Well, he's with us now. We're on the _same side."_

"We all know whose side you're on, Varric," she spat. "It will _never_ be the Inquisition's."

"Attacking him now won't help us, Cassandra," Aislynn pointed out, wearily.

"Exactly!" Varric agreed, backing up quickly when Aislynn's arm shot out, her finger pointed in his face.

"And _you_," she threatened, "had better not be keeping anything else from us."

Letting out a frustrated breath, he raised his hands in surrender, "I understand…"

Defeated, Cassandra stepped away, the expression on her face inscrutable as she fought to shutter the pain and anger, "I must not allow myself to think of what might have been when there is so much as stake…" The Seeker leaned over a table and let her shoulder sag in exhaustion. "Go, Varric…just, _go_."

Exchanging a silent glance with the Inquisitor, he took his leave, stalking to the stairs. Just as he set foot on the first step, he paused, turning once more to the dark woman, "You know what I think?" his eyes bored into the back of her head. "If Hawke had been at the Conclave, he'd be dead, too." And as he descended, he murmured bitterly, "You people have done enough to him…"

Cassandra sat heavily on a nearby chair, murmuring into her gloved hands how it had been her fault, while Aislynn did her best to listen. Yet, she couldn't shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. A part of her knew that she should not have been first choice for Inquisitor, but to hear it confirmed? It hurt—and more than she was willing to admit. With so much responsibility on her shoulders, so much at stake, she couldn't afford any more doubt than she already carried, especially from her companions. As Cassandra poured out her heart, Aislynn did her best to listen, did her best to push away how _personal_ it felt…

"I should have been more careful…I should have been smarter. I don't deserve to be here. I was a fool!" Cassandra raged, her anger pointing inward instead.

A breathy chuckle escaped Aislynn's lips as she admitted, "Have you looked at this Inquisition lately? A mishmash of this and that and everything in between. We're _all _fools…"

Cassandra scoffed, but a slight, momentary grin lit up her face. Nodding towards the stairs, Aislynn stood and walked with the Seeker across the loft, both of them silent in contemplation. Before they parted ways in the courtyard, Cassandra grasped the elf's slender arm and murmured, "I want you to know that…I have no regrets." Dark eyes rose to meet the Aislynn's and sincerity burned in them. "Maybe if we'd found Hawke or Karia sooner, then the Maker wouldn't have needed to send you. But He did. You're…not what I pictured, but if I've learned anything it's that I know less than nothing."

Aislynn flashed the woman a wan smile and pulled away quickly. She was late for a meeting and she was eager to be away from her companion's reminder that she was, after all, a mistake—a mistake labeled as Divine providence.

She entered the war room just as the Commander was leaving and they collided solidly, knocking Aislynn backwards.

"Maker's breath," he cursed, catching her in his arms before she tumbled into the ground, "Forgive me, Inquisitor." His eyes looked her over, "Did I hurt you? Are you—"

"Cullen," she offered him a small smile, "I'm fine. Don't worry."

He released a jagged breath, "We wondered—I was just about to look for you."

"I was…detained," she answered quietly as he closed the door behind her. Avoiding his searching gaze as he took his place across from her, she asked the spymaster, "What of the letter?"

Karia approached from a dark corner of the room and answered instead, "It was coded, but we did confirm that Hawke's contact is, in fact, in Crestwood. He did not give us a map or any sort of useful information in regards to finding his current hiding place, however." She handed the letter to Aislynn, "He signed it 'Hawke,'" she smiled. "I suspect he knew it would be in question under any other name."

Aislynn shook her head, a wry grin on her face. _That's how Cassandra knew…_

"This leads us to believe that either the smuggling cave has been discovered and he is relocating, or there are others searching for him," Leliana explained.

Aislynn nodded, leaning over the war table to examine the map, "What can you tell me of the village, itself?"

"Crestwood was once heavily affected by the Fifth Blight," Josephine explained. "Its mayor is one of the survivors. The city was flooded, killing a great many people. It has not yet fully recovered." She pointed at its location in comparison with the rest of the area, "It is a rather strategic place for trade, and once it was a crossroads for such. The Blight amongst other hostile activity in recent years has taken even that from the town. If, while you're in the area, you are able to look into this issue, it may aid the Inquisition."

Nodding, Aislynn turned to Cullen, feeling her knees grow weak when he flashed her a soft, lopsided grin, "Commander, what would you suggest in regards to outposts?"

"Crestwood, itself, is rather small," he said, letting his eyes roam over her face before pulling out a smaller map of the town and setting it before her. He marked a few locations that would be strategic for small base camps and mentioned, "There is a fort in the area, rather old. I'm not even sure how serviceable it is. Mark it on the map if you come across it and send it back. I'll dispatch another contingent to man the fort if it is in good enough condition."

"Very well," she said. "Was there anything else?"

They spent several hours discussing different issues both within Skyhold and across the board. Josephine had made little progress on securing an audience with Empress Celene, but had hopes that perhaps she could find a way to the peace talks being held in only a few short months. They discussed a few issues brought forward by Red Jenny…well…_one_ of the Jennies, anyway. Several nobles and their situations had also demanded Aislynn's attention and answers were needed as soon as possible. Funny how that seemed to be the case with the nobles.

When they were finally out of issues that needed immediate discussion, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains and the moon was beginning to creep over the tops of the fortress walls. Aislynn bid her advisers good night but remained behind to review what they had planned in regards to Crestwood. Alone, she leaned wearily over the war table, pinching the bridge of her nose as another headache began to throb behind her eyes.

"My lady?" Cullen's voice echoed from the doorway, gentle and concerned.

She turned and smiled at him, "I just missed the war table so much, I couldn't bring myself to leave," she teased lightly, leaning her hip against the edge.

He chuckled, "Really? Because I was hoping to spend some time with you—out there." Cullen nodded to the door, "But if you'd rather be here…" he started to walk away, ever so slowly.

Before he could withdraw, Aislynn leapt past him with a laugh and sprinted down the hallway, "I'll race you!"

The Commander smiled and chased after her, the both of them racing through the halls and out the Keep door into the moonlight. As quick as Ailsynn was, Cullen's legs were longer and he caught up with her quickly, catching her around the waist as they passed the well. "Nice try, Aislynn, but—"

His jest was silenced as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer. Cullen's strong arms held her tightly after their kiss ended and his gentle, brown eyes gazed down at her with a tenderness that warmed her heart. She allowed herself to be held for a few, moments before pulling away:

"How about that walk, hm?"

Aislynn slipped her hand into Cullen's as they walked along the battlements, gazing out over the mountain range beyond them. It was a breathtaking sort of beauty that never ceased to amaze the elf with its rugged splendor. The jagged peaks, capped with snow, seemed both daunting and irresistible, and she wondered, briefly, if she would ever have a chance to explore them—perhaps, even, when the battle for Corypheus was won.

Her lips curled in an unamused half-grin at the hopeful thought. So much of the future had yet to be determined. She did not wish to give herself false hope, but…the Inquisition could not possibly last forever, could it?

Cullen sighed after their long silence, squeezing her hand gently. "One more day and then you're on another mission." He turned to face her again, "I can't help but worry for you when you leave, you know."

Saucily, she grinned, "Worrying will only add lines to your face. After all, I seem to have survived thus far."

"Barely," he retorted with a pointed stare.

"Oh, details," she waved her free hand dismissively and then reached down to tug at the glove on one of his hands. "Don't these come off?"

He chuckled and removed them for her, letting her intertwine her slender fingers with his larger, hardened ones. "Your hands are cold," he remarked, rubbing his thumbs along hers.

"And yours are warm," she purred. "Just perfect."

The Commander pulled her closer, once more, letting his hands drop to her waist. Tenderly, he leaned down and kissed her, reveling in the softness of her lips, the smell of her hair, the feel of her warm body against his. For just a moment, that was all that mattered—she was there, safe and in his arms.

Right where she belonged.

"Just…come back," he whispered in her ear when their kiss ended. "Promise?"

Aislynn nuzzled against his chest with a happy sigh as his arms encased her and held her securely. Her heart was fluttering and she couldn't help the contented smile that spread across her lips as she murmured,

"I promise."


	37. Medium Rare

_Now the fun begins…as the action begins to pick up, and things start to get a little more interesting between certain interested parties (wink wink—yes, there will be fluff aplenty), the underlying plot I have will start to come to the fore. It will conclude in the next series I've started, but this is where it all begins. Thanks everyone who reviewed! Please enjoy!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"'Oh, goody! Another dreary, miserable wasteland. Let's invite Dorian!' she says. Bad idea." groused the mage, casting a withering glare at his elfin friend.

"You know," the Iron Bull noted, "you whine a lot." He smirked at his companion's disheveled appearance.

"And," Dorian turned to glower at the Qunari, "you _stink_ a lot. This deluge ought to be good for _that_, at least." He moved purposefully away from the towering man to stand beside Aislynn.

She snickered in response to his statement, "Or make us all smell like wet dogs."

The mage groaned despondently and pulled the hood of his cloak further over his face.

The town of Crestwood lay hardly a mile beyond the outer lying farms, where the companions had first been debriefed by Scout Harding, down an unkempt pathway lined partially with crumbling stone walls and marked with wooden sign posts rotting from age and abuse. The area, itself, turned out to be no better than the Fallow Mire or the Storm Coast, at least, in regards to the rain_._ The ground upon which they walked was slick and muddy and the overwatered grass did little to assist them in getting footholds throughout the hilly terrain. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and the wind blew fiercely, chilling their skin and causing them to shiver. The travelers were soaked through before they even reached the end of the farming properties.

Karia tugged on Aislynn's cloak, "There are Grey Wardens up ahead. Be wary."

"How do you know?" the Inquisitor's brows knitted together as she surveyed the landscape. "I can't see anything."

The Warden Queen almost laughed, "Their Taint—I can sense it. Just…be careful. They may ask questions." With that, she pulled her cloak further over her face, "They will sense me, as well."

Nodding, Aislynn murmured, "And you don't wish to be found?"

"No."

_Very well, then…_ the elfin Inquisitor smirked under the darkness of her hood. Karia's presence had remained unknown to many within Skyhold. Not so much her person, but her identity. All of the work she had put into placing Alistair on the throne and becoming Queen simply to spend her time traveling and masking her identity seemed rather superfluous. When asked about it, she would merely quirk a brow and mention how nosy younger folk were, then refuse to speak of the matter further. Aislynn had long ago learned to leave Karia's secrets well enough alone.

Gazing down the well-trodden path to the city, Aislynn saw a few dark, hooded figures looming in the distance. Judging from Karia's stiff posture, she assumed that they were the Grey Wardens she had mentioned earlier. When the strangers caught sight of the Inquisition banner, they hailed them and came forward, bowing their heads politely.

"The Inquisition," one of the men exclaimed. "I'm glad you're here. Crestwood is a mess."

Aislynn stepped forward and greeted them personally, drawing them into an in-depth conversation about the area, what they had faced, and the status of the land without allowing them knowledge of her name or purpose. _Clever, _her Grey Warden cousin thought with narrowed eyes, watching as she extricated from them that they were still actively seeking their quarry. _Good…Hawke has not yet been discovered…_ She saw Varric relax beside her and hid her smile within the shadow of her cloak.

Karia slipped behind the bulky Qunari when the Inquisitor had finished questioning the Wardens. She recognized the men from Weisshaupt—had _spoken_ with them only a few months previous. They would, beyond a doubt, recognize her, and she was not ready for her presence to be revealed.

Aislynn watched the men as they disappeared down the worn path, and then she heaved a sigh, "The good news is that they don't know where Hawke and his contact are. The bad news is…well, Crestwood."

Varric slung Bianca over his shoulder and raised a brow, "What've you got in mind, your Inquisitorialness?"

She snorted at the nickname and answered, "Apparently there's a big rift in the middle of the lake that's sending in quite a bit of undead into the settlement."

"Ugh…dead things. Redcliffe all over again," Karia mumbled, grimacing in disgust. "Except, without the power-crazy demon running amok."

"You can't have everything," chortled the Iron Bull, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. "Just tell me where to swing and it's dead."

"Easy, Tiny," joked the dwarf. "Only fools rush in."

The Inquisitor chuckled, "Well…we now have the safety of the town in question as well as finding Hawke. It's an awfully tall order, I think. We should probably get to it."

_**~oOo~**_

The battle for Caer Bronach proved to be more difficult than Aislynn had anticipated. The bandit outpost—fortress, more like—was heavily guarded and fiercely defended. Rather than the more subtle approach she had hoped to pursue, they had been forced into attacking the bandits directly. While plotting the eventual overthrow of the keep, the Inquisition's cover was blown by none other than a dragon, which had sent the companions racing for their lives across the plains. The dragon lost interest in favor of a flock of sheep, but only to leave Aislynn and her companions completely unguarded against the gates of the fort.

Iron Bull lived up to his reputation, slamming the front gates open and wreaking havoc upon their armored reavers. Aislynn and Karia followed closely behind with their daggers while Dorian and Varric guarded their backs, variations of magical incantations and whirring bolts thudding into their targets and littering the stone yard with corpses.

Aislynn left the battle below to eliminate the archers on the upper level, using the shadows of the murky fortress as her cover. She was in her element, bounding up the stairs, darting between shadows, pouncing on the unsuspecting bandits and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake. The archers on the wall did not hear her, they did not see her—how could she?

_I am shadow; I am steel; I am death!_

The elf sprang from the darkness and slit their throats in quick succession, flitting from one assailant to another in a deadly pirouette of leather and steel. The deadly dance brought her to the edge of the second tier, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of the danger. Adrenaline pounded the dare through her blood like a drum and she leapt from the edge, a wild, roguish smile on her face. Her feet alighted on a temporary roof halfway down and she somersaulted from the roof and onto the ground below, poised to strike. The bandits who had seen her leap from the balcony trembled in her presence but fought her anyway, but they didn't stand a chance.

Wiping the sweat and blood from her brow, the Inquisitor surveyed her companion's progress. The court was clear, the second tier was safe, the tower was emptied. Already, Bull and Varric were pulling the dead bodies—those Karia had already skimmed for useful information and items—and piling them just outside the fortress walls. The elfin rogue took a steadying breath, slowing her breathing and her racing heart. The battle was over.

Caer Bronach was theirs.

Aislynn turned away from the misted eyes and ashen faces of the dead surrounding her. Still, after all the years she had seen death, it shook her. Death was necessary. It had been a part of her life since infancy. Even so, the thought that she had the power to alter someone's fate, remove what made them…_real_… she shuddered at the thought. She was proficient in her weapons' lore, in fighting, in survival. She relished the challenged, _lived_ for the rush of adrenaline during each battle. But the grim reality that faced her after every victory still sent shivers down her spine and made bile rise in her throat.

"Evil is created, not born…" she murmured the reminder to herself, slinking to a corner of the fort to write of their progress to Skyhold.

It had been a while since she had sent him a letter—just _Cullen,_ and not as the Commander of the Inquisition. Too busy, too afraid—she had her excuses.

_**~oOo~**_

_Cullen,_

_I'm attaching the map of Caer Bronach and its location with this letter. We've successfully routed the bandits encamped within. They should no longer plague the townspeople and the countryside. Crestwood's mayor indicated that there is a way to empty the lake to reach what used to be Old Crestwood, where currently a giant rift has opened and is unleashing all manner of demons and undead against the frightened townspeople. _

_Karia's with us, though. She's done weird stuff like this before._

_Grey Wardens are in the area, still seeking their Quarry. And so are we, for that matter. _

_In other news—there's a wyvern wandering about attacking people that some lady in a farm somewhere wants. Why do people need such strange things? What's she going to do with a wyvern? If she's so canny, why can't she get the bloody thing herself? "Oh, look. The Inquisition. Be a dear and go fetch this would you?" I'm about to rename the Inquisition the "Finders Keepers Guild."_

_Oh, and there's a dragon. It chased us. We lived. And it's just outside Caer Bronach. No big deal, though. We've got Iron Bull. He likes dragons._

_Yours deliciously medium rare,_

_Aislynn_

_P.S.—Stop worrying. You're making it rain, here._

_**~oOo~**_

_Of course_ the blighted woman would save the dragon bit till the end of the letter. Cullen ran a gloved hand down his face, pausing at his mouth to reread the letter—again.

_She's going to get herself eaten…_ he thought with a concerned frown. Dragons were not something to be made light of, whether she had Iron Bull on her side or not. And, while he was thankful for the Qunari warrior's presence, the dragon was still a great deal _bigger_. With more teeth.

Carefully folding the letter, he released a slow sigh. _Almost two weeks…_ It felt as though he hadn't seen her in forever, though it had been a mere ten days. She'd been gone for longer, before. _But I've never been in lo—_the Commander stopped himself before finishing the word, pushing up from his desk to begin preparations for the contingent of troops that would occupy Caer Bronach.

_I've never cared so deeply before…_ he amended, allowing a soft smile to spread briefly across his lips. He missed her, more than he cared to admit. The few weeks she spent in Skyhold recovering after her fall in the Storm Coast had been blissful; after their chess game, they'd spent more time together than he had ever dared to hope possible. He missed her laughter, her teasing, her smile, her scent, her warmth, her _kisses…_

_Maker, she's bewitched me…_

Their kiss on the battlements had done something to him; he could no longer deny it. It had been the final straw, the missing piece—and now her memory was embedded in his every thought, his every motive. He was _consumed_, he felt, and dangerously so. The feeling was both enrapturing and frightening in turn. _How did I get so lucky?_ _Why me_? The Inquisitor was perhaps the most sought after woman in Thedas. After closing the Breach, her name was on the lips nearly everyone.

And she wanted _him._

The thought made him smile. _Maker's breath…I have _never_ felt this way before…_ The man flushed, realizing he had quite forgotten why he left his office. Bringing his hand up to rub the tension in his neck, he ambled back to his office, closing the door behind him, and sitting down comfortably in his chair. His eyes drifted back to her letter and he sighed, holding his face in his hands.

_Andraste preserve me…the troops! I am a fool…_

So, he got up _again,_ and this time hastened to the training field before other, more pleasant thoughts could distract him from his intentions.

_**~oOo~**_

Aislynn gazed out across the land from the tower at Caer Bronach. Cullen had sent his men immediately, she was sure, but after three days of waiting, she had begun to worry. Her small group of companions had held the fort with little effort after successfully removing the bandit threat, but there was still a matter of the dragon that had yet to be dealt with. They hadn't been able to leave the tower because of the prowling beast, and did not want to confront it directly in the case that the dragon _won_. They would need supplies, shelter, medicines, _healing_ if the dragon were to overpower them. Without the contingent from Skyhold, Aislynn feared to face the dark creature.

"Boss!" shouted Iron Bull from the main level. "We've got company!"

Fearing the worst, she raced down the tower steps and flung herself from the second level to Bull's side, "What's going on?"

"That dragon doesn't seem to want to wait anymore," he opened the front gates slightly and pointed over towards the hills. "He's been circling that area for a while, getting steadily closer. The problem is that, if our troops come, they'll get blasted."

She exhaled sharply, "Drat…the men should be here any day now, as it is…"

"We don't have much longer to make a decision," the Qunari warrior observed. "It's angry. And hungry. It may attack us _here_, and then the stronghold is lost for good."

The Inquisitor nodded, her mind spinning, trying to find some tactic that would at least be _livable._ "Bull, grab everyone. We'll meet here—now."

The warrior did as she asked, bellowing to the companions scattered about the fort to gather. Karia was the first to arrive, skidding to a halt beside her cousin, "Aislynn? What is it?"

"The Archdemon—that was a dragon, yes?"

Startled, the Queen furrowed her brows, "Yes, but why do you ask?"

"How did you defeat it?"

She shook her head, "It was a great effort. We had mages, dwarves, elves, and Arl Eamon's men battling it with us. It took an army."

"Yes, but what were the dragon's weaknesses? You didn't have an army when you defeated the dragon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes," the Inquisitor insisted, desperate for answers.

"Well, no, but—"

"So what did you do?"

Karia sighed, "We hid and struck and ran, over and over. We'd never faced a dragon before, we didn't know its weaknesses, only that it breathed fire and it could create a wind tunnel to suck you in and crush you, so we stayed out of reach. It took hours, Aislynn. _Hours_. And some of us nearly died anyway." She crossed her arms, "A dragon is a job for an army. We should wait for Cullen's men."

"Bah," the Iron Bull spat, "Look at us—we _are _an army." He let out a bellowing laugh that made Dorian wince. "We can take it. We're all better fighters than anything else out there."

Dorian scowled, "Yes, but a great deal smaller than a dragon; at least, we were the last time I checked."

"Sparkler's got a point, but I'm not entirely ready to watch a whole army of troops get singed because we let a winged blowtorch go free for a while," Varric said with a shrug, patting Bianca fondly. "I'm in."

Aislynn sighed, frowning, "Two for, two against? I'm to be the deciding vote?"

Miffed, Dorian raised his brow, "I never said I was against it. I merely insinuated that we're _tiny _and that dragons are _not." _Then, slowly, his typical, easy grin spread across his face, "Imagine the stories of me after I slay my very own dragon...They'll have my face _everywhere_. I can imagine it in marble…_"_ His hand waved outward towards his imaginary treasures as he envisioned his golden future before he turned back to wink at his friend.

The elf laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder, "Very well, then. Karia?"

Heaving a sigh, the Queen relented, "I'm with you—_of course_, I'm with you—I'm just cautious. One does not survive a Blight without learning a bit of vigilance."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bull roared exultantly, drawing his giant battleaxe and raising it aloft. "Let's get that scaly bastard!"

_**~oOo~**_

Panic staggered Aislynn when the terrible beast turned cold, dark eyes upon her. Those serpentine eyes were intelligent, calculating, and _angry._ Gasping for breath in her terror, she backed away, slowly, her eyes locking with the dragon's until finally, it reacted, shrieking its rage and leaping for her from where it stood sentinel. The ground shook with the heavy impact as—_thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud—_its massive legs urged it forward.

_Run!_ The elf's thoughts screamed, just in time. She darted across the plains, zigzagging towards Caer Bronach, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. _This was a very bad idea!_ She thought as she ducked, narrowly missing being swiped into oblivion. _Not much farther…void take you, Dorian, if you're not ready…_

As she neared the walls, a jet of green light erupted from somewhere on the fort's ramparts, smothering the dragon in a thick, roiling ichor. It screamed in both pain and rage as the substance seeped between its armored scales and into the sensitive skin beneath, burning, itching, melting. Its wings flapped wildly, but the damage had already been done. Holes spread across its membranous wings and grew wider with every impassioned flap. They had it grounded.

Iron Bull jumped from a trench nearby and swung at one of the dragon's battered wings, severing it completely. The scream of pain curdled Aislynn's blood as she watched the appendage fall—and then the other. _So much blood…_ she felt herself gag. _That poor creature…_ It clawed at the Qunari warrior, even more deadly in its plight. Jaws snapped and legs propelled it forward, just missing the hulking man by inches.

Karia darted from the shadows and pulled Aislynn with her to the fore. They lunged and slashed at the dragon's peripherals, careful to avoid being splattered by the green poison. From the fort, Varric stood with Dorian and sent bolt after bolt at the dragon.

The battle lasted a while, yet, as the dragon fought viciously for its life. Jets of electrical fire blasted from its maw and the companions were forced to find cover. Even without being able to fly, the dragon was formidable. When it had run out of flame, the three melee fighters leapt out again and this time were faced with dodging its massive tail. The dragon spun its gigantic tail, and snapped its enormous jaws, and swiped its massive claws. Several times, they were knocked back or knocked breathless. Had the rogue and the mage atop the fort not been paying as close attention as they were, perhaps those fighting on the ground would have been killed.

Healing magic soothed over Aislynn as she picked herself up from being thrown against the fort wall. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get her back into the fray. She cast an appreciative glance at Dorian before somersaulting back into the dragon's reach.

She called out to Iron Bull as she raced to the dragon's head. Seeing her intent, he readied himself, kneeling down upon one knee, his two meaty hands cupped over his raised kneecap. The elf leapt into his ready hands and felt herself thrust into the air. She alighted on the dragon's broad neck and sank her daggers deep into the base of its skull. It didn't thrash, it didn't snap, it didn't move—the spinal cord had been severed. All at once, the mighty beast collapsed—_dead_.

Aislynn coughed, trying to fill her lungs again from the air that been so forcefully expelled when she landed after the dragon fell. Rising on trembling legs, she surveyed the work they had done and smiled, relief washing over her body as she watched Karia and the Qunari warrior high-five each other. Punching the Iron Bull on the shoulder good naturedly, she smiled and turned to the fort walls, "Dorian!"

He peered down from the wall, "Yes, oh thou that slayest beasts?"

"Did you want your face in marble or granite?"

His smile was wide when he answered, "I want it in gold, actually. Much better with my complexion."


	38. More Questions

_This chapter is several days late. Blame it all on Hawke. It's his fault. Darn man didn't want to be found. There is a divergence from canon because of Karia's involvement. Enjoy!_

_**~oOo~oOo~oOo~**_

"Commander!" a scout shouted, running up behind the tall man on the battlements. "Commander!"

Cullen turned slightly to acknowledge him but kept walking, "Go ahead." He had a scheduled meeting with Master Dennett in regards to a few mounts that were being requisitioned for a military training exercise outside of Skyhold. The Commander and his troops planned to be gone for a week and he didn't want his plans to coincide with any other needs the Inquisition might have.

The scout hurried to catch up with the Commander's long strides, holding out a letter, "News from Crestwood, Ser."

Wordlessly, he grabbed the letter and nodded his thanks to the scout, prying open the wax seal impatiently. He hadn't heard anything since sending his troops to Caer Bronach and he was eager for word on the situation. Unfolding the page, he smiled at the familiar flow of the Inquisitor's script. Most of her letters were written hurriedly when she found the time between missions. This one was more composed, more legible, and much longer. Pausing at the bottom of the first landing leading to the outer courtyard, he leaned against the wall and read the letter.

_Cullen,_

_Quite a bit has happened since I wrote last. I should probably tell you, it finally stopped raining. I suppose it didn't have anything to do with your worrying, after all…_

_Your contingent arrived on time, with only a slight delay due to some unforeseeable events. My team and I took care of it, though. Apparently, Bull thinks the five of us are an army all on our own. It was exciting; I promise to expound when I get back._

_Crestwood is safe and the crazy herb lady has her dead wyvern. I've never seen a more grateful group of people. They've had a hard time of it, here, with the Blight and then the bandits and then the rift and now the Grey Wardens passing through. While everyone holds a great deal of respect for them, there is still a great deal of fear for them in regards to why they're needed. _

_Do you know that I miss you? No? Well, I do. I can't believe it's nearly been three weeks. That's far too long, I think. Aren't there laws about Inquisitors and their Commanders being separated? If there's not, I should make a law. Can Inquisitors make laws?_

_We're running out of places on the map to search in regards to our contact. Hopefully this week will provide more results than the previous one. _

_Missing you—_very_ much,_

_Aislynn_

Folding it gently, he tucked the letter into a pocket and continued down the rest of the flight of steps towards the stables. His brows furrowed when he reached the second landing, noticing the commotion at the gates. Everyone left in Skyhold, apparently, had emptied the rest of the fortress and had gathered in the bailey by the front gates, their voices mingling together in a roar of excitement. Across the yard, he caught sight of Josephine and pushed his way to her side.

"Josephine, what is the meaning of this?" he growled, trying not to bump into the children darting in and out of the crowd.

Her eyes were wide with excitement, "A shipment is arriving from Crestwood, Commander."

He crossed his arms, unimpressed, "We get shipments from the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast and everywhere else on the map. What's so different about this one?"

"You haven't heard?" the Ambassador laughed, casting him a quizzical glance.

"Obviously not," he retorted, knitting his brows together.

"Well," she stood on her tiptoes, peering over the heads of the people milling about, "one of the scouts ran ahead with the news that we're being delivered the Inquisitor's dragon."

Cullen spun to face her directly and spluttered, "_Dragon_?!"

"Don't shout, Commander, I can hear you just fine," she sniffed archly. "I'm surprised you haven't heard. Ser Marrick sent the report to Leliana several days ago. It's been the talk of the court for quite some time."

He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to hide the surprise on his face, "She really did it. She killed the dragon."

"She's quite impressive for such a little thing, isn't she?" chuckled Josie.

"That's…" he exhaled sharply, "an understatement, I think…" His eyes widened at the sight of the large crate being hefted through the portcullis. Beside him, Josephine squealed with excitement and pushed through the mob of people, raising her voice above the rest to direct the soldiers to where she wanted the shipment placed.

Cullen forced himself to walk away from the crowd and continue towards the stables when another scout caught up to him, "Ser!"

"Report," he murmured.

"A letter from the Inquisitor, ser. It came with the dragon's…er…body." the boy explained handing the Commander yet another note.

He raised an inquiring brow but took the letter, dismissing the scout so that he could tear into the parchment. His eyes scanned the paper, trying to determine whether or not it had been written under duress or pain or _anything_ negative, but was relieved to see the flowing script match the previous letter. As Cullen panned back to the top to actually _read_ the note, he couldn't help but chuckle at the few, direct lines.

_Cullen,_

_I'm really sorry—because, dragon; and __because, wrinkles__ it probably worried you._

_Please forgive me_

_We killed the dragon_

_We lived—and, you know that because…this letter. Ha…_

_And Dorian wants a statue of gold in his image because he helped to kill it  
>(I think that about covers it)<em>

_See you soon!_

_Aislynn_

_**~oOo~**_

Stroud wasn't the man Aislynn was expecting Hawke's contact to be. She wasn't sure _what_ she was expecting, actually, but it hadn't been a solemn, Orlesian Warden with suspicions about Corypheus possessing the power of an archdemon. And when he brought up the Calling…

"_Maker_, I think I need to sit down…" Karia murmured, reaching for the cave wall and leaning heavily against it.

Stroud watched the woman with narrowed eyes, "Is there a problem, my lady?"

The Queen glanced up from the shadows and shook her head, "The Wardens of Orlais are not the only ones suffering from the Calling…"

Aislynn quirked a brow, "The Calling? Is this some Grey Warden ritual?"

Karia covered her face with her hands and sighed, "It's…_much _worse." The Inquisitor whirled to face her cousin with questioning eyes; and the Queen sighed. "The Calling…is the reason I left for Weisshaupt in the first place. And typically we are bound by oath not to speak of these matters, but…" she glanced at Stroud, who nodded almost imperceptibly, "it seems that the situation has changed." Taking a deep breath, Karia continued, "Our…term…as a Grey Warden begins with mastering our Taint—a process called the Joining: ingesting darkspawn blood to mingle with that of our own. It is both the key to our abilities and…also, our death sentence."

"What are you saying?" the Inquisitor asked, her breath hitching as she regarded the other elf.

The Queen swallowed before she continued, "The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim him."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Karia expelled another slow breath, "that…the Taint is about to consume us. Eventually, it takes over; we can go _mad _and die from it. It changes us. Most of us go into the Deep Roads and take out as many darkspawn as we can. Others are…not so fortunate. They become something akin to darkspawn, themselves. Becoming a Grey Warden is like signing our own death sentence."

Aislynn shook her head, her mind reeling, "You're _dying_?"

"It's what the Calling signifies, yes," Stroud interjected gravely. "But we are typically guaranteed between twenty and thirty years. It is not much, but you can imagine the consternation when an entire order suffers from the same plague—all at once."

"It starts with dreams," Karia explained, "and then whispers in your head…

"And every Grey Warden in Orlais…" the Inquisitor glanced quickly at Karia, "and apparently some in Ferelden…thinks they're dying?"

"Yes," Stroud answered. "Likely because of Corypheus." His brows furrowed as he continued, "If the Wardens fall, there would be no one to stand against the Blight? It is our greatest fear."

"So Corypheus isn't controlling them. He's bluffing them with this Calling?" Aislynn paced across the floor of the smuggler's cave, trying to reason through the problem aloud. "And they're all falling for it? I mean, is it real? Or is Corypheus mimicking it, somehow?"

Stroud shook his head, "I know not. Even as a senior Warden I have heard only the vaguest whispers of Corypheus." He sighed, "The Wardens believe this Calling is real and they will act accordingly. That is all we know for certain."

Aislynn moved to stand beside the Queen, moving a gentle hand to squeeze her shoulder. They exchanged somber glances, but Stroud wasn't finished speaking.

"Warden Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perished."

Karia went rigid, "_Blood magic?_" She spat, "That cannot be!"

He nodded, "I agree. When I disputed it as madness, my own comrades turned on me." Striding to a table in the center of the cave, he pointed to a map pinned to its center, "Grey Wardens are gathering here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower."

Dorian harrumphed, "Naturally…"

"Meet me there," Stroud demanded. "And we will find answers."

Aislynn watched the man go, her mind reeling with even more questions. For every one answered, a hundred more seemed follow. There seemed to be no end to the Wardens' secrets—from the Joining, to the Calling, and to their eventual demise. And then to throw in blood magic? Their complicated situation was spiraling out of control and the Inquisitor feared that she was in far beyond what she was capable of handling.

Long strides brought Hawke to Aislynn's side and he whispered, "I'll go with Stroud to the Western Approach. Regroup at Skyhold and then meet us there." His blue eyes flashed an urgency that sent chills down Aislynn's spine. "And _quickly."_

_**~oOo~**_

Karia wound her way up the stairs of Skyhold to the library, palms sweaty and breath bated. She had known of the leader of the mage rebellion's presence since Alistair had mentioned it in a letter several months back, just before the Inquisitor and her new allies sealed the Breach. Had the Calling not interfered with her research, she would not have thought to seek out the mage woman so quickly—at least not before uncovering her latest tip.

Now, however, there was nothing stopping her.

She found the mage poring over a few of the library's older tomes, the glow of candlelight softening the concentrated glare on the mage's face. Tentative steps moved her closer and she cleared her throat softly in the darkness, "Fiona?"

The elf mage lifted her eyes from the page and a soft smile spread across her face, "Ah, my lady Queen. I wondered when you would come to see me."

Indicating the empty chair across from her, Karia asked, "May I?" At Fiona's nod, she sat, folding her hands delicately on the wooden table's surface. "I suppose you already know why I'm seeking you out."

Fiona sighed sorrowfully, closing the dusty book in front of her, "Yes. And I am afraid that I cannot help you."

Karia rubbed her temples, "I was afraid you'd say that…but…" green eyes sought out Fiona's with a desperate plea. "Please…I just…I need to know _everything_. If there's a way…if there's any hope at all…"

The mage grasped the Queen's hands in her own, firmly and comfortingly; but her voice wavered as she spoke, "Because it is you…and because it is for Alistair…I will tell you what I know."

_**~oOo~**_

_He should be back by now…he's always in his office…_ Aislynn paced the confines of Cullen's drafty workroom, rubbing her hands briskly up and down her arms to ignite some heat where she was dreadfully lacking. They had returned quite late into the night and, typically, the Commander was pacing his office, poring over reports, or _something_ infuriating productive.

Weary, frustrated, and cold, Aislynn collapsed on the stone floor in the corner of the office and leaned against the cold, rough wall. While exhausted, the quiet of his office gave her time to think and attempt to sort out the tangled mess that she had discovered within the Grey Warden order. She exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes as she rested her head against the stone wall. Always, Karia had kept her secrets in regards to the Order. And, always, Aislynn had respected them. After all, who better than she knew about secrets?

A shudder ran down her spine and she closed her eyes. It was difficult to wrap her mind around the fact that her cousin was already ten years through her "sentence" as a Warden…and that perhaps she was limited now to a meager ten or twenty years more before being consumed by the Taint. It wasn't fair. The elf's hands balled into fists. _It's not fair!_ Anger swelled in her chest, mingling with the frustration she felt for the entire situation, becoming a smoldering flame of sheer fury.

_Someone so good shouldn't have to live with the fear of knowing she's dying…_

A wry grin flickered across her lips. _I suppose my situation isn't all that different._ It was a sobering realization. She had always put her life on the line willingly. After all she had done in her past, she could do no less. It was a sacrifice that she had been willing to make at Haven—a sacrifice she weighed and accepted whenever she left on missions. Becoming Inquisitor had heightened the risks and she lived with the knowledge that each day could be her last.

Karia hadn't had that option, however. She had been conscripted, had survived the Joining, had survived the Korcari Wilds and Ostagar only to further discover that her life span would be cut in half.

Were other Wardens given options? Or were they all conscripts?

Was their dedication really so true that blood magic would be so openly considered?

The endless questions and speculations ran together as the minutes ticked by and Aislynn felt the lids of her eyes grow heavier. _I should…go to bed…_ she thought though the miasma of exhaustion. _So comfortable…_

And then darkness.

_**~oOo~**_

"I expect a full report on my desk next week," the Commander said, passing off a report to one of his lieutenants. "I'll need details on their progress and any issues that arise. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ser," the man saluted, departing quickly to do as bidden.

Dismissing the rest of his contingent for the night, Cullen climbed the stairs to the battlements—and his office. The training had gone well and the men were able to return early, affording the soldiers a well-earned day off from the Commander's rigorous training schedule. He was pleased for his men, but he knew the day off would make him even more restless than ever, with the Inquisitor gone and—

_Oh._

She was back.

Leaning against the doorframe, he smiled. She was curled up in the corner of his office, still in her traveling leathers, fast asleep. Quietly, he stepped into the dark office and shut the door, moving to kneel beside her still form.

"Aislynn…" he whispered, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ears. "Wake up…"

She murmured something incoherent and curled into a tighter ball, her eyes fluttering momentarily before sinking back into her deep sleep.

Cullen's smile was soft as he caressed her cheek. She was so _beautiful…_ It still amazed him how such a lovely, feisty, amazing creature cared so much for him. Sometimes, it felt like a dream—a beautiful dream that he'd wake from, eventually. The thought frightened him. It had been years since he had wanted someone in his life like this; and now, having her there…

It seemed too good to be true, sometimes.

Shrugging off his cloak, he pulled her gently from the corner of the wall and enveloped her in the warm fabric. Her small form was pliable as he tucked the cloak over her and around her. She didn't even seem to notice, not until he swept her into his arms.

Aislynn released a soft moan, her eyelids fluttering heavily. Green eyes tried to focus on his face as slow recognition lit up her weary features.

"Cullen?" her voice was thick with sleep.

Tenderly, he craned his neck down to touch his nose to hers, rubbing the tips together softly, "Shhh…go back to sleep…"

She smiled and cuddled against him, her eyes closing and her consciousness fading once more. He chuckled and held her tightly as he wound his way from his office to her tower bedroom. Little moments—such as this one—were enough to convince him that his beautiful dream was worth every blissful second. Every moment was worth having her in his arms, having her close, feeling her soft breath on his neck, feeling her warm body against his.

Reaching her room, he laid her gently on the bed, relieved that the maids had already turned down her sheets. Without removing her boots—fearing he'd wake her—he pulled the covers snugly over and tucked her in, leaving her wrapped securely in his cloak. She snuggled into the pillows' softness but did not wake.

_Maker, but I've missed you…_ Cullen leaned down and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. "Good night," he murmured, moving away and closing the door of her room behind him.

_Perhaps the day off tomorrow isn't quite so bad of an idea, after all, _he admitted to himself with a contented smile.


End file.
